Naughty or Nice?
by Sevandor1
Summary: What starts as an innocent school trip leads to an unexpected adventure - and a more unexpected discovery - for young Megamind.  Set at Christmas, includes many characters, set in both the past and the present.
1. Introduction

Disclaimer: This is original fan work, intended solely for the entertainment of the readers, and in no way intends any infringement on any copyrights, trademarks, or licenses held by Dreamworks Animation SKG, Alan Schoolcroft, Brent Simons, or the holders of any other legal rights or licenses pertaining to Megamind.

Author's Note: Although this story is set at Christmas-time, isn't really about Christmas. The holiday provides the hook for the story, but isn't really the subject; this is more a tale in the life of young Megamind. Also of note: I have a friend who works in a prison, so the terms I use for certain things might not be what people are used to hearing ("segregation" as opposed to "solitary,"for instance). I'd hate to have her read this and then come back and tell me I need to correct my terminology. She was also responsible for some intriguing information about how holidays are observed by some prisoners. :)

* * *

Introduction

_Before I begin this particular anecdote, I want to set something straight, for the record: Contrary to some popular opinions, I am __not__ completely ignorant of Earth customs and holidays. Really, just stop and think about it. Other than the eight days on my homeworld and the comparatively brief time I spent traveling here, I've lived on Earth, among humans, for my entire life! Why __wouldn't__ I know about human practices and traditions? They're the only ones I've ever known!_

_Oh, I __will__ admit that having grown up largely within a penal system gave me some seriously skewed notions of how those holidays were celebrated, and it certainly left me somewhat ignorant of many things regarding matters like telephone etiquette, interpersonal relationships and rituals and acceptable social behavior, especially between males and females — well, what else could be expected? I never had reason to even think of using a telephone until after my first deliberate escape, and the only Earth woman I saw face-to-face until I was allowed to go to school was the prison librarian. And while she was nice enough — so nearsighted, I doubt she really noticed that I had blue skin and wasn't an adult — she was also old enough to be my mother's grandmother. She was __not__ about to enlighten me as to what are so quaintly called "the facts of life," and what I heard from the prisoners and guards was... I believe the word I want is __salacious__. Possibly __pornographic__. Life in an adult penitentiary presumes that the inmates came __in__ as adults, with their basic sociological education already learned and habitual. The System may attempt __reform__, but it's not designed to __teach__. In my particular case—_

_What do you mean, how do I know how to spell __sociological__ and __interpersonal__ and __salacious__? My dear Roxanne, are you implying that someone of my unfathomably unlimited intellect can't master the simple skill of spelling? I know that I have trouble __pronouncing__ some words, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of __spelling__ them correctly! Yes, yes, I suppose that a speech therapist might be able to help with the problem, but I have much more important things to do with my time, especially since you... __persuaded__ me to give up a life of villainy. Besides, it isn't my fault if English is riddled with words that are incompatible with my natural speech processes and mechanisms — although, personally, I believe it's all the result of that insufferable Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes interfering with the flight path of my escape pod and subjecting me to weeks of space debris impact and cranial trauma during my most delicate formative stage of life..._

_Oh, all right, I won't get into that now. But if you're going to keep commenting on my spelling, don't read over my shoulder while I'm typing! And come to think of it, I'm writing this for you because you asked, and doesn't it make the whole thing rather pointless if you read it while I'm writing it? Now, where was I...? Ah, yes. Back to the prelude to the memoir._

_As I was saying, I could hardly have lived so much of my life here on Earth and __not__ been aware of such things as important customs and holidays. They may have been observed __differently__ in prison, but they were hardly ignored. And as for the one called Christmas...! I assure you, it's as important a date for me as it is for many humans! After all, it was the day __I__ arrived on Earth! I— _

_No, I am __not__ being blasphemous (note to self: look up the precise meaning of "blasphemous" when a certain nosy reporter isn't around). And I am __not__ acting full of myself! Well... maybe a __teensy__ bit. But if you recall, Christmas is also the day that __he__ arrived on Earth, deliberately knocking my pod off its plotted trajectory to steal the place my parents had planned for __me__, so that does tend to make it less special a day for me than it might otherwise have been. A bit tarnished, so to speak._

_Christmas at the prison was, for lack of a better word, __peculiar__. Roxanne (yes, I know you're still reading over my shoulder, but at least let me pretend otherwise!) might call it __predictable__. Aside from the cardboard trees decorated with a truly bizarre array of magazine cutout ornaments and toilet paper snow, every year, it was traditional for a pre-holiday breakout to be attempted by pretty much the same group of inmates, and every year, it failed. To keep it from spoiling the whole holiday season too badly, they usually made the attempt on the day after Thanksgiving — Break Friday, as the guards and the warden called it. As soon as the dried-out turkey and burnt pumpkin pie were finished on Thursday night, the plans were set into motion. By daybreak on Friday, the plot was sprung and in about five minutes, the guards had things back in order. These inmates may have been criminally gifted in some ways, but masterminding effective escapes was obviously not their forte. I've known that from the moment they recruited me to help with a breakout when I was still a toddler._

_Once that ritual was over with, there came the trying-to-make-the-best-of-things phase. When I was still quite young and irresistibly adorable, the inmates held a competition to see who could come up with the best Christmas present for me. At least twice each December, someone would try to make off with Minion, thinking he'd make the perfect "gift," until they discovered that he not only could talk, but had some novel ways of defending himself. They also entertained me with stories and songs they remembered — so they said — from their own childhood holidays. _

_When I was finally allowed to go to school, I heard... ah... more accurate versions of the same stories and songs from my classmates, along with tales of their own happy family traditions, which sounded much more appealing to me than my own experiences. I was particularly intrigued by their reminisces concerning a powerful and benevolent being they called Santa Claus, who supposedly brought gifts to all the children on the planet in one night. In prison, "Santa" was a rather seedy former drug dealer called Big Jake. He happened to have gray hair and a beard and he owned a set of faded red thermal underwear that he brought out every December. He somehow managed to operate a still in the tank of his cell's toilet every year, from which he provided the other prisoners with something that he called "Christmas cheer," until the guards caught him at it and shut him down. Not exactly the kind of image to appeal to a child's sense of wonder, let me tell you!_

_I wanted quite desperately to meet the real Santa person, to find out just how he was able to accomplish such a seemingly impossible task — just imagine the sophisticated technology he must have had at his disposal if he was indeed able to do it! But I was quickly told in no uncertain terms (by a certain fated to be ex-superhero) that my home would never be visited by Mr. Claus, as by definition, everyone who lived in a prison was immediately assigned to something called "The Naughty List."_

_Further research revealed that said List was what had to be a massive data base of infractions against any kind of law, rule, or regulation imaginable. Mr. Claus either employed a truly ingenious network of spies and covert observational equipment, or he possessed super powers that allowed him to discern a person's guilt or innocence, even at a considerable distance. Whatever the case, my classmates all agreed with Mr. Perfect Hair. If you lived in a prison, it was because you had done something very bad, and would be Naughty Listed for the rest of your life._

_It goes without saying that I was appalled by this, and, being a sensitive child, was devastated. It didn't seem to matter how often I tried to explain to the other kids that I hadn't been sent to prison by a court of law, that I had simply wound up there by a cruel trick of fate (and a devious maneuver of Golden Boy's escape pod). Indeed, during the past year, I had been on my very best behavior just to have the chance to go to school, and outside of a few mistakes that had had unfortunate results, I hadn't done anything to justify being labeled as genuinely naughty (yet). It seemed exceptionally cruel to me that my hard work should be summarily ignored just because I lived in a place not of my choosing, but as the days went by and the holiday approached, I became convinced that this would indeed be my fate. I concluded that even the supposedly generous and benevolent Mr. Claus wouldn't bother visiting a prison just for the sake of one little alien child in a house of unrepentant miscreants. _

_In spite of what those mor— er, __children__ said, I—_

_Okay, I know, I was going to call them morons, but c'mon, cut me a little slack, here! Was it my fault that my pod landed in a prison, and that no one ever __tried__ to take me to a better home, even as an infant? I didn't ask for that any more than I'd asked to be sent to a planet where I was going to be the only person with blue skin. No, I don't blame my parents for that choice; they did the best they could with very little to go on and even less time to act. And they couldn't have known that someone else in the quadrant was going to have the same idea for saving their baby, who just happened to look exactly like the Caucasian humans he landed among, who would also wind up being the biggest thorn in my side. And isn't there a saying about how cruel kids can be? Well, these kids weren't any different, and with Mr. Perfect leading them, they were even worse. They knew he'd side with them whenever I was their target, and somehow make sure that I always came away as the one to take the blame._

_It wasn't fair, and eventually, I realized that life __wasn't__ fair most of the time, but back then, I hadn't quite lost the hope that once in a while it __might__ be. So in spite of what the other kids, and the teacher, said, I didn't believe that I was doomed to be blacklisted during the holidays just because of where I lived. On the other hand, having also decided that Mr. Claus wouldn't go out of his way to visit one child in a prison full of pretty hardcore criminals, I knew that there was only one way I would have a chance to meet this intriguing individual and his even more intriguing technology..._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"Run away?" Minion echoed when his young master revealed his whispered idea that afternoon while in yet another round of undeserved time out. He blinked, not quite able to believe his fishy ears. "As in _escape_? Sir, I know it wasn't very nice, what the other kids told you during recess, but if the whole problem is this Naughty List thing, don't you think that running away will... well, be _really _naughty? That'd ruin your whole good behavior record, not to mention blowing the point of trying to avoid getting on The List."

The boy's blue face fell, his expression so sad that Minion immediately wanted to change tactics and declare this the best idea ever. He was a sucker for those huge green eyes and the expressive little person behind them, so pathetically desperate for any affection or approval, Minion wondered for the millionth time how any living thing could be so callously immune to it. He was about to offer some kind of consolation when his master sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right, it's a lame idea. But I wasn't thinking of doing it permanently, just for one night, so I wouldn't be in the prison on Christmas Eve. That's not _very _naughty, is it?"

"I don't think so," Minion admitted. "But you know what happens when people get time off for good behavior and then break parole. Doesn't matter if it's big or small, one violation and it's back to prison. If you run away even for one night, you'll get the warden angry, and then this Mr. Claus would probably stay away from you no matter where you are, because you'd broken the rules. From what they've been saying, it sounds like he doesn't cut any slack even for first offenders."

From the sound he made, the someday-to-be Megamind (who was currently known by an assortment of designations, the most common and least derogatory of which was simply Blue) conceded the point, even as he wondered how the other kids — most of whom had done naughty things to him at least once a day all through the school year — could maintain that they had been good enough to have earned the coveted visitation right and special gifts. Once again, there were probably different standards in play because he was a blue-skinned illegal alien. "That's true," he admitted in a small voice, smaller than his already low whisper. "Nobody around here _ever _gives me a break, even when I'm being good."

Minion felt as if his heart would break if he didn't say something encouraging. "That's not completely true, sir. _I _do. If you really want to try this, I'm with you all the way..."

But Blue smiled sadly as he shook his head and patted Minion's sphere. "No, you were right, it was a dumb idea. Maybe next year, if I can stop screwing up so much in _shool, _I can ask the warden to let me out on a one-day work release or something, for extra good behavior, and be out of the prison on Christmas Eve so I can have a chance to meet this Mr. Claus and see his _inventions_."

Minion grinned, so glad that Blue was making plans for the future that he didn't bother to correct his mispronunciation. He knew that beyond a point, all the correction in the world wouldn't make any difference, since some of his more persistent errors came from a combination of his English being self-taught and slight physiological differences that made certain sounds difficult for him to master. "That's a wonderful idea, sir," he said enthusiastically. "If the warden was willing to let you come to school as a reward for six months of good behavior, another whole year of it should be more than enough to earn you a day pass."

It was an even better reward, Minion thought, to see the gleam of buoyed hopes in his master's emerald eyes and the genuine smile on his face. Blue remained quiet through the remainder of his time out, but his mind was active with ideas and plans that he might use to achieve his coveted goal. Though his plans didn't always meet with the desired results, no one could fault Blue on his ability to pick himself up, dust himself off, and try again.

School was almost over for the day by the time Blue's exile to the corner ended. As he and Minion quietly slipped into his desk at the back of the room, the teacher, Ms Driscoll, was making an announcement as she had two of the children distribute sheets of red paper to all the students. "As all of you know, today was to be our final day of class before the Christmas holiday, but tomorrow, as a Christmas Eve treat, Lord and Lady Scott have generously arranged to take us all on a special field trip to see the new mechanized toy collection at the Metro City Science Museum. You will need to bring the permission slip at the bottom of the sheet with you, signed by your parent or guardian. A bus will be here to take us to the museum at the beginning of school tomorrow morning, and will return us here in time for your parents to pick you up at two o'clock. I expect all of you to be on your very best behavior — _and _remember to write a thank you note to the Scotts during the holiday break. Are there any questions?"

The girl handing out the papers on his side of the room literally threw Blue's copy onto his desk, as if coming too close to him would infect her with some fatal disease. As he read the announcement, which gave all the pertinent details for the outing, Blue had several particularly burning questions: _Does the warden know about this? Will I be allowed to go, too? What does "dress nicely" mean? _But he was afraid that if he dared to ask, Ms Driscoll would remember how much she disliked him, and would decide that he couldn't come, just because he'd bothered her. The idea of a field trip of any kind was positively intoxicating, especially to a child who seldom saw the outdoors and had never before been permitted to travel farther than the little schoolhouse, but to a Science Museum...! The very thought made Blue fairly dizzy with excitement and apprehension. Would he actually be allowed to go?

With that very much in mind, he stayed very still until the teacher had dismissed them, then attempted to slip out to the prison bus as quickly as possible, before someone asked if he _had _to come on the field trip and spoil it for the rest of them. He could tell from a few looks that were being shot his way that some of his classmates were thinking it — the Scott boy in particular — but as long as nobody said it out loud, it was easier to ignore them.

Unfortunately, he didn't move quickly enough. As he was about to reach the door, Ms Driscoll was there, blocking his way, a scowl on her face and a yellow slip of paper in her hand. She thrust the note in Blue's face, as she did almost every day. Though he tried to smile in an apologetic way, it wasn't enough to convince her to that just this once, she might change her mind and not force him to take home another humiliating Note from the Teacher, detailing everything she felt he had done wrong that day. Gingerly, with a half-hidden sigh, Blue took the Note, certain that as soon as the warden saw it, that would be the end to his hopes of a field trip.

Once back at the prison, Blue was required to report directly to the gate guards, so they could check him for any contraband he might have picked up during the day. Blue knew it was routine for all inmates when they were traveling to and from the prison for court dates or on work release, and he didn't really mind, since some of the guards were nice enough to ask him about his day, and at least pretended to be interested when he told them. He handed over his school books and papers, the yellow Note right on top. The guard knew what it was at once. He shook his head with a sigh and pointed. Blue knew what that meant. With a sigh of his own, the boy took back his things, collected Minion, and followed Movement Officer Davis down the hall to the warden's office.

"So what trouble did you get into today, Mr. Blue?" Warden Thurmer asked even before the Note crossed his desk. In some ways, Blue felt a little less out of place when dealing with the guards and prison officials, who called everyone by "mister" and his last name. Since that only required one name, it not only made him feel less self-conscious about his lack of a real one, but it also eliminated the other unkind names people were inclined to add.

Blue knew the drill, since the teacher sent him home with at least one note nearly every day. While Officer Davis went to stand near the door, Blue carefully set Minion and his other things on the warden's desk, then slid into what the inmates called the Interrogation Seat, a hard wooden chair that faced the warden across the veritable sea of his wide desk. Blue's feet dangled far off the floor, and he hung his head as he studied his hands, folded in his lap. "I got mad at some of the other kids during recess — but I didn't start a fight, honest!"

The warden's answering, "Mm-hm," was obviously skeptical, but he read the Note to get the teacher's side of the story. "Says here that during recess, you tried to bite Jennifer Osgood..."

Blue's head snapped up, eyes full of indignation. "I did not!" he declared hotly. "_She _bit _me _— and then she went around screaming that I tried to _poison _her 'cause my blood isn't the right kind of red!" In proof, he pulled back one orange sleeve to display what were plainly bite marks on his thin forearm, some of which had punctured his skin and showed small spots of dried purple-pink blood. Thurmer was no medical examiner, but even he could see that the bite wasn't self-inflicted, or made by Blue's piranha-toothed fish.

"Why did she bite you?" the warden asked.

"Because I called her a liar and wouldn't take it back," Blue said after a few moments' hesitation. "She bites when people don't do what she wants."

"And why did you call her a liar?"

This time, Blue squirmed in the chair, his cheeks flushing faintly purple as his eyes went back to studying his hands. He didn't want to say anything about what had started the whole incident, the kids' discussion of Mr. Claus and the whole business of the Naughty List, partly because that stupid Wayne Scott had been first to declare Blue a lifetime candidate for it, and partly because he was afraid the warden would confirm it. He carefully stuck to the business with Jenny Osgood. "She... she said that people who live in prisons are all monsters, and I had to be the worst monster of all 'cause I was _born _there. I told her I wasn't born here, but she said that's why I'm blue, 'cause I'm a _real _monster, and she got all the other kids to start calling me names, so I started yelling that she was a big fat ugly liar, an' she didn't like that, but I wasn't gonna stop until _she _did, an'..."

His voice got smaller and smaller as he tried to shrink into the chair and disappear. He knew that when he started yelling, his voice could get really loud and shrill, enough to make people's ears hurt. He'd been warned about it before, and now he was probably going to be punished but good for going back on his promise to stop doing that. He reconsidered mentioning the things the other kids had said about the prison and the Naughty List, but he decided that it would just make him sound like a babyish whiner. He bit his lip instead and fell silent, waiting for the axe to fall.

For what felt like a long time, the warden said nothing, and Blue figured he was sunk. He heard papers rustling from the direction of the desk — probably the warden pulling out the forms to get him sent to Segregation for the next month. Well, there went any chance of going on that field trip.

But when he finally spoke again, Warden Thurmer sounded more disappointed than upset. "That makes four notes this week, Mr. Blue," he said, sternly but not angrily. "I know Ms Driscoll has her favorites and you're not one of them—" Even the waiting guard snorted at this gross understatement. "—but that means you have to be just that much more careful when the other kids egg you on. Didn't we have this talk just last week?"

Blue nodded miserably. Yep, Segregation for sure.

Instead, the warden sighed. "All right, then. I'll have a talk with Ms Driscoll about this Osgood girl biting you. Doesn't seem right for her to get away with biting other kids."

The boy's big green eyes got bigger. He hazarded a glance in the warden's direction without lifting his head. "Does — does that mean I'm not going to Seg?"

Thurmer snorted, one corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile. "No, you're not going to Seg. The guards there are busy enough, this time of year." His expression suddenly became stern. "But I don't want to see any more notes about you yelling in school, got it?"

Blue nodded vigorously, relieved. "I won't, sir, I promise, sir, thank you, sir." He was so splutteringly earnest, the warden had difficulty suppressing a smile.

"I'll hold you to that, Mr. Blue. Now, what's this?" He held up the red field trip announcement, reading it even as he asked the question. "A trip to the Science Museum? Tomorrow? You know that this should've been brought in at least a week ago."

The boy frowned at this reminder of the rules governing his school attendance. He knew them well — as did Ms Driscoll, since she was constantly using them as reasons to punish and reprimand him. No doubt she was hoping that a last-minute request like this would guarantee his absence. "I didn't know about it until today," he said. "Ms Driscoll handed them out just before we left." He wondered if the other kids had been kept in the dark as well. Probably not. That would explain why he had actually been given one of the flyers; nobody expected he'd be allowed to come, anyway. Under the hurt he felt at being excluded once again, anger began to bubble.

But it had barely begun to simmer when the warden let loose a breath that wasn't exactly a sigh. "Sounds just like the Scotts," he sniffed, none too impressed by the wealthy couple who pretentiously referred to themselves as Lord and Lady. "Always pulling these last-second stunts to get attention." He glanced at Officer Davis as he set down the paper. "Do we still have the boxes of stuff the staff's been collecting for the children's shelter?"

The guard nodded. "Kowalski and Brenner were planning to take them over after their shift tonight. It's a better haul than we took in last year. Seven full crates of toys and clothes."

The warden's eyes slid back to the small blue boy still slouched in the visitor's chair. He looked at the field trip announcement, then at the teacher's note, then back at the boy, whose right sleeve was still hitched up on his slender arm, the bite mark partially visible. Now, rumor had it that Warden Thurmer hated Blue because he was both a kid and an alien, but the truth was that he had a soft spot for the boy. When Blue had first landed in the prison, Thurmer had looked into the possibility of getting him moved to an orphanage or into foster care, but after seeing the reactions of over a dozen social workers, nuns, ministers, and other do-gooders when they got one look at the blue-skinned baby, he decided that Blue was safer here than he might have been anywhere else. The inmates didn't view him as a side-show freak, a potential science experiment, a means to acquire tabloid fame and fortune, or a spawn of Satan come to life, and his presence actually got a few of them to improve their behavior a bit.

Even so, Thurmer worried about the influence the more hardened criminals might have on the all too impressionable alien child, and did what he could to provide the boy with exposure to more normal society. Sadly, he knew it would be limited, because there was simply no way to hide the fact that Blue was... well, _blue _. Ms Driscoll's private school had the benefit of being small and close to the prison, and she had claimed to be willing to overlook Blue's obvious differences when enough cash was waved under her nose. But she was a self-important and prejudiced idiot, impressed by the Scott boy to the point that she allowed him and his parents to practically run the school. Thurmer had a sinking feeling that this would all end badly for little Blue, but for now, he was willing to overlook the less serious of these schoolhouse incidents and give Blue a shot at finding some measure of acceptance by his peers — especially if it meant throwing a wrench into Ms Driscoll's narrow-minded war against the alien boy.

He drummed his fingers on the papers for a moment, then came to a decision. "Well, with it being the holidays and all, I think we can bend the rules a little, just this once. And just maybe there're some clothes your size in one of those boxes that'll be a little more suitable for a trip to the museum."

Blue's bubbling temper cooled off at once; his eyes widened with disbelief as he sat up straight in his chair. "You mean — you mean I can go? Tomorrow? With the other kids?"

The warden nodded, his expression grave, though Davis recognized the sham and grinned behind the boy's back. "Only if you give me your solemn word to be on your best behavior, Mr. Blue. Because if I hear one word that you were the cause of any trouble tomorrow, I _will _put you in Seg until _next _Christmas. Got it?"

"No, sir!" Blue was so shocked and excited, for a moment, he didn't know what he was saying. His larger than normal head was reeling as he tried to accept that not only would he be allowed to go on the field trip, but he was also going to get the first civilian clothes he'd had since he'd outgrown the things he'd been wearing when his parents placed him in his escape pod. "I mean, yes sir, I got it! I won't get into trouble or do anything bad or _anything_, sir, I promise!"

The warden snorted softly as he pulled out a pen to sign the permission slip. "Well, I've heard _that _before," he admitted, not really accusing the boy, just acknowledging the truth. He favored Minion's sphere with a sidelong glance. "Maybe you'd better take your little friend there with you," he suggested. "You'll make sure he stays out of trouble, won't you, Mr. Minion?"

The fish nodded with his entire body. He didn't make a habit of talking in front of most humans — too many of them freaked out and tried to smash him when he did — but Minion and the warden had a strangely comfortable relationship, as they had one goal in common: keeping little Blue alive and out of trouble. "Yes, sir!" he replied enthusiastically. "But I'm sure Sir means it when he says he won't do anything bad!"

"I'm sure he does, too," Thurmer allowed. "But having a little added insurance never hurt. Things happen."

Both Blue and Minion knew the truth of that only too well. No matter how hard Blue tried to fit in, no matter how much he tried to do things that would make friends, he always wound up the odd one out — with the emphasis on odd. The boy didn't quite know how to respond, and was relieved when the warden motioned for him to collect his things and follow Officer Davis back to his cell. "I'll have my secretary go through the clothes and pick out something you can wear tomorrow. One of the guards will bring it over before lights out."

"Thank you, sir," Blue said, his smile for the warden one of genuine gratitude. "I won't let you down, even — even if I have to jump off the bus to stay out of trouble!"

Thurmer rolled his eyes, thinking just how much trouble the boy would cause if he _did _jump off the bus, but he kept the observation to himself, and waved his dismissal. When the door was closed, he shook his head and laughed, wondering if there was another prison anywhere in the universe with such... _unusual _disciplinary problems.

Out in the corridor, Blue clutched his books and Minion's globe to his thin chest, his entire face positively glowing with joy and excitement, his huge eyes shining with delight. "We're going, Minion!" he exulted, keeping his voice to a gleeful whisper, mindful of the rules governing prisoner movement. "On a field trip, to a _science _museum! Can you think of anything more... more... more _pestacular? _"

Minion grinned toothily and rolled about in his sphere in his own display of excitement. He never spoke while they were in movement, but he was so thrilled to see his master happy, he wouldn't've corrected his pronunciation even if they'd been alone in their cell. He just hoped the following day turned out to be as spectacular as little Blue was expecting.

All things considered, he should have known better.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The night before the field trip, half an hour before lights out, Officer Davis showed up with an armful of civilian clothes for Blue to try on. Most of the things were too big for the skinny alien boy, but one pair of black slacks fit well enough once Davis had punched an extra hole (well, _two _holes) in the belt. A green and blue striped sweater was quite acceptable, if just a bit loose. Unfortunately, the only winter jacket that was anywhere near a decent fit had been meant for a girl, but if the ruffle-edged hood was removed along with the garish flower-shaped zipper pull, it didn't look too bad. Its particular shade of bright and somewhat shiny powder blue was perhaps a touch on the girlish side, but the color suited the boy (with the added benefit of making his blue head a little less noticeable). It was certainly far less offensive than the Barbie-doll pink jacket that was the only other possibility. A pair of black athletic shoes were the closest thing to dress shoes in Blue's size, but for an outing where there was likely to be a fair amount of walking, they were more practical. A dark green set of mittens and a matching scarf had also been selected, but the only available winter hat that would fit on Blue's oversized head was a rather strange sickly yellow-green color that clashed hideously with the boy's skin tone and the jacket.

Still, Blue didn't mind. The simple fact that he was being allowed to go on this trip was a reward all its own; being allowed to wear civilian clothing rather than the orange prison jumpsuit was a chance to feel normal that he'd thought he might never experience. That it wasn't perfectly matched and custom tailored like Wayne Scott's clothing didn't really matter. He was getting to leave the prison, without guards (well, not _real_ guards, though Ms Driscoll had a sharper eye for the slightest misstep than the worst of the prison officers), to see a museum dedicated to science, which had always fascinated him. Why should he be upset about something as silly as the color of a hat?

He was even more elated when Officer Davis brought out the last item: a strange-looking shoulder bag that seemed more like a sling or an odd set of suspenders. It was a gift, the officer said, from Mrs. Davis, who had heard her husband's stories about Blue and his fish friend. She had made the thing so the boy could carry Minion to school without risking a drop that might shatter his sphere, in a way that would let Minion see everything with minimal obstruction. It didn't matter that both Blue and Minion knew that it would take much more than a simple fall to even damage Minion's habitat; that both the officer and his wife cared enough to give him the sling was in itself a gift.

After profusely thanking Officer Davis and promising to write a thank-you letter to his wife (whom Blue hadn't known existed), he made an extra effort to be good for the rest of the night. He didn't protest more than once when Davis insisted that he couldn't sleep in his new clothes. He was as obedient as could be about washing his face and brushing his teeth and getting into bed when it was time for lights-out, and though he tossed and turned for a while, exhaustion finally overcame excitement, and he slept, dreaming of what might be the most wonderful day of his life.

It started out well enough. Mornings at the prison started considerably earlier than they did in many ordinary households, with breakfast in the cafeteria at six. Blue didn't need to be ready for school until eight, so he went to breakfast as usual, wearing his everyday jumpsuit rather than risk soiling his new clothes. He chattered happily about his coming trip, and those sitting nearby listened with indulgent interest. Most of the inmates in his unit actually cared about little Blue, in their own ways. A few offered suggestions for how he might make the most of his time outside the pen (many of which were quickly curtailed by scowls from the listening guards), but in general, they genuinely hoped he enjoyed himself.

Though he seemed to do more talking than eating, Blue quickly finished his breakfast, knowing that he wouldn't be allowed to leave the hall until he had eaten everything on his tray. Sometimes, he balked at it, and his refusal to finish meals he didn't like garnered him more disciplinary action than anything save his notes from school, but today, he was happy to do anything if it meant getting to go on the trip. He gobbled away between bouts of enthusiastic chatter, not even aware that he was eating more than usual, as the other inmates kept sneaking extra bits of Blue's favorite things onto his plate, firmly convinced that they could put a little extra meat on the boy's thin frame by "feeding him up."

When he was done, the morning-shift movement officer from his unit, Officer Schultz (who, along with an inmate known as Schwartz the Squeeze, a social worker named Mr. Schmidt, and a Dr. Schneider in the infirmary, were largely responsible for Blue's presumption that _sch_ was always pronounced _sh_), came to escort him back to his unit before the other prisoners were finished, so that he would have time to wash up and get changed before he was due to leave.

Once Blue had gotten old enough to wash and dress himself, the director of the prison's social workers had insisted that he take his showers alone rather than with the inmates, and the warden had agreed. Not all of the convicts were fond of Blue, and some who were in for child abuse and exploitation wouldn't have thought twice about harming the strange little alien boy. An ounce of prevention was, in this case, worth vastly more than a pound of cure, and if Warden Thurmer wasn't going to let Blue be hurt by supposed do-gooders outside the prison, he certainly wasn't about to risk having him hurt by convicted felons inside it, not on his watch. He had seen to it that anyone with a record that involved crimes against children were moved out of Blue's unit, but he wasn't taking any chances with the others getting sick ideas, either. Minion was always allowed to accompany his master to the showers as well, in part to stand guard and in part to enjoy his own sort of daily "bath," as Blue was diligent about rinsing his friend's globe and refilling it with fresh water as a part of their morning ablutions. Today, he took extra care to make sure that they were both squeaky clean, as scrubbed and polished and presentable as they could possibly be.

Officer Schultz smiled at their laughter and excited babbling as he kept watch outside the door to the showers. When Blue emerged clean and dressed in his new civvies, he checked him over to make sure everything was on straight, and helped him re-tie the laces on his new shoes. He then escorted Blue back to his cell to drop off his prison clothes and collect his outerwear along with Minion's new sling and his signed permission slip.

When Schultz led him to the gate where he would normally board his bus, Blue received another shocking surprise. Instead of the usual prison bus, a car was waiting for him, with the warden himself standing outside the open driver's door, a wry smile on his face.

"Well," he said when both Blue and Minion continued to stare at him, frozen in speechlessness, "it's a short ride, and I figured I could spare a few minutes, just to make sure you get off all right. Ms Driscoll and I had a few... not so friendly words last night, and I don't want her taking it out on you."

Blue hadn't known about that, and was thus immensely grateful for the warden's thoughtfulness. "Thank you, sir," he said, meaning it, as Officer Schultz led him to the front passenger's seat and helped him get belted in — another new experience for Blue, as neither the bus nor even his escape pod had been so equipped. He was a little nervous about it at first, since it didn't feel much better than he imagined it would feel to be handcuffed, but he relaxed when the warden sat down behind the wheel and did the same thing to himself, voluntarily. Blue remembered then that he'd seen the other school kids doing the same thing when they were being taken home by their parents, and decided that this was a rule about traveling in cars. He managed a steady smile for the warden when they started off, his uneasiness melting away with renewed anticipation for the coming day.

It took only a few minutes to reach the little schoolhouse, a distance they could have easily walked, in warmer weather. But the air was chill and the wind brisk, promising either snow or an icy rain later in the day. When they arrived, Thurmer made sure Blue — who, thin as he was, felt winter cold more keenly — had his coat zipped up and his scarf secure around his slender neck, though he snorted at the ugly knitted hat. "Cripes, couldn't they find something better than _that?_" he muttered, trying to adjust the thing so it wouldn't appear quite so hideous, and failing. "It looks like... Well, never mind what it looks like. It belongs in the garbage, not on someone's head."

Blue flushed self-consciously. "It was the only thing Officer Davis had that'd fit my head," he explained. "He didn't like it, either, but I said it'd be okay 'cause the jacket hood looked too girly and we didn't think I should wear my prison coat."

The warden grunted. "You're right about that, but we don't want to give the prison a bad name, having you run around with that piece of sh— with that ugly thing on your head. Here," he said after fishing around in the pockets of his long black woolen overcoat. He pulled out another knitted hat, this one a ski cap in a cheerful shade of red with a white pompom on top. "One of my daughters made this for me in the crafts class at her school, said I should wear it over the holidays. I think I can let you borrow it for the day if you promise to take good care of it."

Blue's eyes widened to bright green saucers as the warden bent down and deftly removed the offensive cap, replacing it with his own. On an ordinary child, it would have been too big, but with Blue's alien cranium, it was close to a perfect fit. "I promise," the boy managed to say through his shock, one hand reaching up to carefully touch the soft wool, as if to make sure it was real. "Thank you, sir!"

Thurmer straightened, gave Blue a quick look of appraisal, then nodded his approval with a carefully restrained smile. That done, he led the boy to the line of parents and children outside the waiting school bus. Ms Driscoll was standing at the open door, collecting permission slips and passing muster on the kids as they said goodbye to their parents and boarded the bus. As usual, Blue was the last in line, but today, he couldn't mind. He was about to go on his first field trip, and he didn't think that anything existed that could spoil his happy mood.

Ms Driscoll, however, took her best shot at it. When she saw who the last child was, her nose wrinkled with distaste even as she frowned at him. "This will _never _do...!" she began, focusing entirely on the alien boy, who was holding out his permission slip for her to take.

The warden stepped up behind Blue, settling one hand on the boy's shoulder. "I hope you're not about to say something about Blue not being allowed to go, Ms Driscoll. There're laws against discrimination, and I'm sure you don't want to have your little school shut down because someone reported that you're teaching little kids to be bigots."

Thurmer knew exactly how to push her buttons. The teacher simmered for a moment, then came at the problem from another angle. "You know very well that he's a troublemaker," she retorted, still scowling. "I don't want him spoiling a special day for the other children."

The warden allowed that this was somewhat true. "He does seem to get into a fair bit of trouble, but that doesn't mean he's always the cause." He fixed the woman with an arch look, clearly referring to yesterday's incident with Jennifer Osgood, and Ms Driscoll's misreporting of the facts. "Blue has promised that he'll be on his best behavior, and so long as the other kids do the same, I'm sure there won't be any problems."

One could fairly hear the teacher grinding her teeth, looking for a means to get her way, but Thurmer remained adamant. The way she raked Blue with a critical eye made him want to turn invisible. Her triumphant smirk a moment later did nothing to dispel the feeling. "Very well, he may come — but _not _the fish."

Blue was horrified, especially since he had included Minion in all his plans for the day, and had never done anything important without his friend. Minion could feel his dismay and wanted to tell him that it would be all right for Blue to go without him, but he had also promised his master never to speak in front of Ms Driscoll after the first time she overheard them talking and accused Blue of throwing his voice to play a nasty trick on her. As far as Minion was concerned, this teacher did more to hurt Blue than anyone in the prison ever had, and he was afraid that if he _did _speak to her, things would get ugly. He didn't want to take the chance that she would hurt Blue because of him, but at times like this, he wished he was telepathic.

To his immense relief, Warden Thurmer spoke up. "Why not? To be frank, I'd rather he _did_ go along. Blue's always more careful when he has his little friend to look after, and it's not like this is a dog or a cat that can get loose and cause problems." He wasn't about to tell her that in his opinion, Minion was a better caretaker and teacher than she could be in her wildest dreams, but he certainly thought it.

Ms Driscoll made a sour face. "Its name isn't on the permission slip," she said, as if that should close the matter.

But before she could snatch it away, the warden simply took the paper from Blue's hand, pulled a pen from his pocket, added Minion's name in the proper place, and initialed it. "It is now," he said bluntly, handing it back to her.

The teacher glared at Thurmer, then at Minion, and finally at Blue. The boy was beginning to feel as if he'd rather go back to the prison, since he was sure that the next thing Ms Driscoll would find fault with was his clothing, but after she seethed for another moment, she finally surrendered.

"All right," she said, nose in the air and teeth still mostly clenched. "They can come. But if either of them cause any disruptions, I'm holding you responsible, Mr. Thurmer."

The warden was not put off by her attitude. "I wouldn't expect anything else," was his bland reply. He looked down at Blue, patted him on the shoulder, and actually smiled warmly. "Have a good time, son. And do stay out of trouble."

The boy nodded vigorously, relief written large on his expressive face. "I will, sir. Thank you, sir!"

Still smiling, Thurmer gave Blue a little nudge to send him on his way. He watched Ms Driscoll making a face of disgust as the child slipped past her and into the bus, and shook his head. Really, Blue was one of the most polite and eager to please children he had ever known. If this woman couldn't see that, then she really _was _the most narrow-minded bigot on the face of the earth.

Once inside the bus, Blue cast his eye about, looking for a place to sit where he wouldn't be obviously unwelcome. This particular bus had two rows of double seats on either side of a central aisle that ended in an emergency exit door at the rear. Since the school was small and the bus rather large, there were plenty of empty seats in the back. Blue took a step toward them, only to find his way blocked by Wayne Scott.

As always, Wayne had impeccably fitted expensive clothes, everything about him as perfect as possible. He stood in the aisle, arms crossed, his expression a fair reflection of Ms Driscoll's dismissive attitude. "You know, this is really _my_ field trip," he said smugly. "I don't want any troublemakers coming."

Blue was shocked. Sure, he and Wayne hadn't gotten along since the first day he'd come to school, but the superpowered boy had never spoken to him so harshly before. It irritated Blue, because this time, he hadn't done anything at all. "I thought it was the class's field trip," he countered. "That's what it said on the paper Ms Driscoll gave us."

Wayne snorted. "She was trying to be polite. _I_ asked my parents to do something nice for my friends, and they decided to do this and pay for it. But you're _not _my friend."

_And whose fault is that? _Blue wondered sarcastically, though he didn't say it. Wayne had never given him a chance; he claimed he didn't even remember anything about coming to Earth in an escape pod, or smashing into Blue's pod when it got in his way. He was probably telling the truth, since strong as he was, Wayne was also stupid, in Blue's opinion. But he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much what he'd just said had hurt. He was itching to point out that the Scotts weren't really Wayne's parents, but he knew where that would take them, and he'd be kicked off the bus before it even started moving.

Determined not to be the same kind of jerk, Blue ground his teeth, bit back the angry retorts, and said, "I just want to see the Science Museum. I don't want to fight, with you or anybody. Just... let me sit down." When Wayne did not budge, but eyed him with a condescending smirk, Blue's temper started to rise and he wanted to hit him, to wipe that smug look off his face. But _he _wasn't stupid; he knew that if he tried, he'd only wind up hurting his hand on Wayne's rock of a jaw. Instead, he clenched his fists, and his own jaw, and somehow managed to say, _"Please."_

In his own mind, the future Metro Man had merely seen to it that the proper rules of etiquette had been enforced. Grinning in self-satisfied triumph, he moved aside and let Blue head to the empty back seats. The smaller boy moved as fast as he could, but it wasn't quick enough to keep him from hearing the mutters of "loser" and "freak" and unkind giggles from the other kids. He headed for the last empty row on the left-hand side of the bus, because it was as far as he could get from his classmates.

"Good for you, sir," Minion whispered to him once they were on their way, and his words could only be heard by Blue over the noise of the bus's engine. "I think he was trying to provoke you so you'd get sent home."

"I _know _he was," Blue grumbled softly. "He thinks he owns the school, and he doesn't want me here."

"Well, that's not his decision to make. He's a bully, and I'm proud of you for not letting him get his way."

Minion's whispered approval went a long way toward cooling Blue's anger, and relieving his sense of humiliation. He took off his mittens, then slipped his friend's carrier from his shoulder and settled it beside him on the seat, freeing the sphere enough so that he could take some consolation from stroking it with his left hand. Minion couldn't make people like Ms Driscoll and Wayne Scott disappear, but his unconditional support and understanding made it a little easier for Blue to tolerate them.

As soon as the bus was underway, Ms Driscoll asked Wayne to lead the class in singing Christmas songs. Blue slouched a little lower in his seat and pulled the warden's cap more firmly over his ears. He knew most of the songs because they'd been taught them during music time in school, but he never sang them, even though he had an excellent sense of pitch and not a bad voice for his age. He kept silent because the one time he'd tried to join in, one of the other boys had punched him in the arm, very hard, and told him to shut up, because no one wanted to listen to a freaky blue alien singing _their _songs. Nothing on this planet belonged to him, and the sooner he got that through his big ugly head, the better. It was like that with so many things, Blue had long since stopped counting. If they wanted to follow Wayne in these inane singalongs, they were welcome to it. This was one thing Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes didn't do perfectly — he sang so off-key, it even made Minion's ears hurt — and if he wanted to make a fool of himself, Blue didn't mind at all.

While the other kids went on singing silly songs about supernaturally animated snow monsters and beasts of burden with strange luminous nasal conditions, Blue focused on the world beyond the bus windows, an amazing panoply of light and color and motion that he had never had a chance to see so closely, on anything but a television screen. The roads and buildings and vehicles were all a marvel to him, and he was quite happy to sit by himself, soaking it all in like an eager sponge. Occasionally, he would whisper to Minion about something especially fascinating that caught his eye, his excitement for this adventure of discovery returning.

"Look at that building, Minion!" he exclaimed, needing to struggle to keep his voice down. The bus had headed up an overpass bridge section of the expressway in one of the city's more industrialized areas; the angle gave them an excellent view of a large structure of glass and steel and chrome. The densely cloudy winter day offered little exterior light, but the illumination from within showed the gleam and spark of great machines at work. Blue's big eyes marveled at the sight even as his nimble mind came up with a thousand ideas for what he might use such incredible devices. "Just imagine what we could do with equipment like that...!"

"Are you talking to that stupid fish?" an unpleasantly nasal voice asked, the tone dripping derision.

Blue recognized the voice of Jenny Osgood, and tried to pretend he didn't hear in hopes that she would go away.

She didn't take the hint. "I'm talking to you, Mister Blueberry Head," she sneered. "What's the matter, don't you understand real people? Or can't you talk without lying?"

The accusation stung Blue into abandoning his pretense. He turned and glared at the girl, who was all dressed up in fancy holiday clothing and an angelically fluffy white fur coat and hat that didn't match her unfriendly expression. "I'm not a liar," he said tightly. "And you should go back to your seat. You're not supposed to walk around in moving buses."

She wrinkled her nose, haughtily. "Maybe _you _aren't, but Ms Driscoll said _we_ could, to talk with our friends, if we wanted to."

"You're not my friend," Blue said, a simple statement of fact. There wasn't a single child in the school who was.

"That's right," Jenny agreed, meanly. "'Cause I _never_ make friends with liars and tattletales!"

"I didn't—!" Blue began.

But the girl interrupted with a scowl as angry as her tone. "Oh yes, you did!" she hissed. "You told somebody I bit you, an' they told Ms Driscoll, an' she told my parents, an' I almost couldn't come today!"

_I wish you hadn't! _Blue thought, but wasn't stupid enough to say. Instead, he retorted, "You _did _bite me!"

She was not about take the rap. "You _made_ me do it! You think I'd wanna touch your ugly blue skin if you didn't, with my _mouth?"_ She made it sound like the grossest, most vile thing imaginable.

Blue was taken aback by the way she said it, combined with the look of total disgust on her face. What she was saying was absolutely true, she and all the other kids were completely revolted by the color of his skin, and always made a big deal of it if he so much as accidentally brushed against them. Of course, they would all forget their disgust if they wanted to hit him, but in his moment of surprise, that fact slipped his mind. Jenny didn't give him a chance to recover, leaning forward to snarl in his face.

"My parents won't let me go to a party next week an' said I'm not gettin' the present I _really_ wanted for Christmas, all because of you, you freaky blue monster. So I'm gonna get even with you! Just you wait! I'm gonna think of somethin', and then you'll be sorry you went an' told lies about me!"

As she spun about to flounce away in a dramatic huff, Blue gave in to childish impulse and stuck out his tongue at her. "Stupid liar," he muttered to himself, and turned his back on her, preferring the view of factories and warehouses rushing by outside the window to her ugly face.

Because of that, he didn't see Jenny stop, having heard his soft retort. She turned and was about to spit out a venomous comeback when something she saw out of the corner of one eye gave her a better idea.

Blue, his thoughts wrapped up in watching the outside world and coming up with ways to thwart any promised payback from Jenny before it happened, didn't notice what was going on behind him until he heard the girl's nasty giggle. "You took away somethin' of mine," she said in a taunting sing-song, "so I think I'll just take away somethin' of yours!"

Blue wished the girl would just go away and leave him alone. He turned his head slightly in the direction of her voice, and was just about to decide that he would be better off ignoring her when he saw that she wasn't standing near him, anymore — and worse, Minion was gone, too, along with the carrying sling Mrs. Davis had made for him. He spun about, looked to see where Jenny had taken his friend, and let out a strangled cry of horror.

At the very back of the bus, Jenny was using her shoulder to push up the lever bar that would open the emergency exit, her hands being otherwise occupied with hanging onto the straps of Minion's carrier. Frantic, Blue tried to lunge off the seat to stop her, but the long end of his new scarf had gotten caught in the seam between the back and the bottom of the bench. In the precious seconds it took to yank it off, Jenny had managed to push up the bar. Just as Blue moved to stop her, the door popped open, the bus bumped through a pothole, and both the girl and Minion started to tumble toward the pavement and the moving cars behind them.

Blue didn't stop to think, he just reached out and grabbed the girl by the belt of her coat. He was stronger than one would have thought from his slender and short appearance, and in another second, he had hauled her and Minion back to safety, his own heart pounding like a jackhammer at the near-disaster. While the rest of the class looked back, crowding the aisle and kneeling in their seats to get a better look — thus preventing Wayne the would-be hero from coming to the rescue — Blue took a moment to catch his breath—

—and promptly had it knocked out of him again when Jenny's elbow slammed into his chest. She then kicked him with all her might and used her upper body to shove him away. The back of his legs hit the edge of his empty seat, causing him to stumble and fall to the floor between the two rows. Almost immediately, Blue tried to get up, but had to struggle because of the awkward position. He had just gotten a decent grip on the edge of the bench and was about to pull himself up when Jenny swung Minion's carrier like a sling, once, twice, three times...

_"NOOOOOOOO!" _Blue screamed, somehow managing to launch himself off the floor in a panicked attempt to stop what he saw coming. But before he could reach the girl, Jenny let go, and Minion went flying, carrier and all. Up he went in a huge, long arc, crashing down onto the outer guard wall of the bridge some car lengths behind the bus. The sphere bounced out of the carrier upon impact, rolled along the wall for a few feet, then slipped from the rail and fell off the bridge, disappearing from sight.

It was at that moment, of course, that Wayne finally showed up, having managed to open a window through which he just barely fit. The instant the back door had popped, the driver had instinctively started to slam on the brakes, and would have, sending Jenny and Blue and Minion flying out into traffic if Wayne hadn't stopped him in the nick of time. The superboy now hovered mid-air at the back of the bus, holding onto the door to follow along with the moving vehicle, since the driver hadn't found a place to stop safely in the constant rush of traffic on the busy crosstown expressway spur, crowded with holiday travelers. Wayne was heroically placing himself between the other children and danger, his free hand held out before him in the classic "stop!" signal. "Please return to your seats," he instructed in his best imitation of authority.

Jenny complied, but not before favoring Blue with a snidely satisfied smirk. Blue was too distraught to even notice. "Minion!" he cried, trying to look past Wayne to where his best friend had fallen. "We have to help him...!"

"Go back to your seat," Wayne repeated sternly. "This door has to be closed..."

"No!" Blue insisted, leaning against the door and sticking one foot between it and its frame to stop the flying fool from shutting it. "You can fly — you have to save him!"

The curl of Wayne's lip spoiled his perfect picture of heroism. He had to choose between shutting the door and crushing Blue's foot, and he didn't like it, especially since he really wanted to do both. "No, I don't," he replied in a tone that made the smaller boy scowl. "It's a waste of time. It's just a silly fish, and it couldn't survive that fall—"

"You don't know that!" Blue yelled, well aware that he had promised not to, but beyond caring. "You don't want to save him because he's _my_ friend, not yours!"

"That's not true!" the flying boy snapped back. "I'm going to be hero, and help people!"

"Then _help Minion!"_

"That's not people — it's just a stupid fish!"

Blue was furious, and even more frightened for his friend, who was getting farther away by the second. "No, he's not — _you're_ the stupid one! You _can_ help him — and you _won't! _You don't care 'cause you're _not_ a hero, you're just a big, nasty _bully!"_

Now, Wayne Scott was probably the most spoiled brat in the Western Hemisphere, but from the day his adoptive parents had recognized his super abilities, his head had been filled with the idea that he would grow up to become a great hero to uphold justice and save the world and be loved by everyone. That he had such powers was all the proof he needed to believe in this lofty destiny — so Blue's accusations that he was uncaring were beginning to make him feel just a little uncomfortable. He was about to reconsider the other boy's plea to save that ridiculous fish when Ms Driscoll called to them in her most no-nonsense voice.

"Wayne, get that door closed this instant! It's putting the other children in danger! And Blue, get back in your seat and stop causing trouble!"

"But Minion...!"

The teacher's expression seethed with derisive anger. "That's _enough! _I said you and that hideous creature shouldn't've come in the first place, and you've just proved me right! Now sit down!"

Horrified, Blue looked back at Wayne, who shrugged with relief, glad that Ms Driscoll had made the decision for him. "You heard the teacher," he said, as if obeying a decree from on high. "Get back to your—_oomph!"_

Not about to listen, Blue suddenly threw all his wiry strength again the door Wayne was attempting to close. The sudden movement wrenched the flying boy's arm — not painfully, but nonetheless taking him by surprise. Blue glared back at Ms Driscoll and all the other kids who were cheering for their little hero, then gave Wayne the most awful look the superboy had ever seen on anyone's face. "I _hate_ you!" Blue spat, his voice shrill with more rage and contempt than he had ever felt. "I hate _all _of you!"

Wayne, not used to being hated, recoiled from him and hesitated for just a moment. Blue seized that brief opportunity, and as quick as a blink, he pushed the door wide and leapt from the moving bus. His reflexes, not as super-swift as Wayne's but much faster than an ordinary human's, allowed him to land on the pavement, ungracefully but also unhurt; he then quickly rolled out of the traffic lane just before he could be hit by an oncoming car. The scream of blaring horns hurt his ears, and drowned out anything he might have heard from the bus, which continued on without him.

If he could have heard it, he wouldn't have liked Ms Driscoll's smug reaction. "Let him go, Wayne. He needs a good lesson in the consequences of bad behavior, and he's finally going get it. Good riddance. Now we can all settle down and _really_ enjoy the day, right, class?"

The chorus of happy agreement from the other kids convinced Wayne that he had done the right thing. Puffing up his pride once more, he dutifully closed the emergency door, then strode back up the aisle to the adulation of his peers and his teacher. Someone called for him to lead them in another song, and he promptly forgot anything that might have been niggling at his conscience.

Back on the shoulder of the highway, an upset but determined young Blue was trying to find a safe place to climb over the bridge's guard wall so that he could get down to the lower street level where Minion had landed. He knew that his friend's sphere was very tough and had survived many impacts that would have shattered even strong glass, but this was a bigger fall than it had ever suffered, at a higher speed. Blue was worried that the globe might have cracked and was losing the water Minion needed to live. If he didn't get to him soon...

He tried not to think about that possibility. He wouldn't accept that Wayne might be right, and that his only real friend might die. It was difficult for him to see over the edge of the wall, especially since it had started to rain, and the lights from passing vehicles and overhead street lamps cast strange glares and shadows on the rain slicked surfaces. Finally, he found a place where the bridge was shored up by a steep embankment, covered with dead grass and weeds.

"Hang on, Minion," he whispered to himself like a mantra as he tried to pull himself up to the top of the damp barrier. "I'm coming. _I'll _save you." The concrete and metal wall, which came up to Blue's shoulder, hadn't been designed to be climbed over, but he was not about to be stopped. After a few slips and stumbles, made worse by the cold rain, he finally managed to get one leg up onto the top. Encouraged by this success, he quickly pulled his other leg up and over, in a hurry to find Minion as quickly as possible.

But in his haste, he move a little _too _quickly; he overbalanced. As he felt himself starting to tumble over the wall, Blue saw that the embankment was much higher and steeper than he had thought. Frantic, he tried to find something to hang onto, but all his fingers met with was cold, wet, hard, and too big for small fingers to grip, even strong slender blue ones. Before he had a chance to feel any more panic or fear for himself, he had slipped over the wall, gracelessly, with no hope of controlling his fall.

Down the precipice he tumbled, rolling head over heels and gaining speed until he came to a sudden halt when the back of his head struck something hard and unyielding. For a moment, Blue's vision went bright, as if a thousand lights had burst behind his eyes. Then, the explosion vanished more quickly than it had come, and as his sight and awareness faded to black oblivion, his last thought was a fervent wish:

_Please, __someone__, help Minion!_


	4. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: I know that I'm not updating as fast as I would like, but since this is helping me work to thaw a years-long writer's block, I'm not about to rush it and ruin the progress I'm making with it. I hope you can all bear with me, because I do know where this is going, and I WILL finish it!_

_To those of you who have reviewed, my deepest thanks. I appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to comment. Now, on with the story!_

* * *

Chapter Three

An unpleasant sensation of cold and wet was the first thing Blue became aware of as consciousness slowly began to seep back into his mind. The second thing that penetrated the fog was pain, a dull throbbing ache at the back of his head and a sharply burning sting in his right knee. Fortunately, neither was very bad, and the cold had soaked into him so deeply, it helped keep him from feeling the worst of it. Slowly, Blue tried to open his eyes. He blinked against the way the cloud-dimmed light from the skies made the ache in his head intensify; he also found that cold bits of something were sticking to his eyelashes. More puzzled than annoyed by them, he lifted one hand to investigate. He touched his face and the stuff stuck to his fingers; as his eyes finally adjusted to the muted brightness, he saw that his fingers were damp with wet snow. With the back of the same hand, he wiped it from his eyes.

He had no idea how much time had passed since he'd fallen and hit his head, but it had been time enough for the cold rain to thoroughly soak his clothes and then begin falling as this slushy show. It could have been a matter of minutes or hours, for all he knew. One thing, however, was certain: he needed to get up and move, to find Minion as quickly as he could, before it was too late.

Groaning, the boy pushed himself up to a sitting position. His head spun, and his hand moved to the top of his neck, where the ache was centered. Fortunately, that only resulted in a slight increase of the pain, like one might feel if gently prodding a bruise. A slight turn of his head revealed that he had hit it against a fire hydrant. By sheer luck, the warden's hat had remained on his head, and its thickly knitted cuff had provided some small protection to cushion what had luckily been a rather glancing blow. There was a little swelling, but when he lowered his hand, he saw no blood on his fingers.

His knee hadn't been quite so lucky. In the tumble down the embankment, it had encountered something sharp enough to rip the fabric of his new pants and leave a shallow gash across the skin beneath. It wasn't deep, but it had bled, and the cold air and snow both numbed it and made it sting. It looked rather messy, but Blue had gotten worse scrapes during some of the so-called "games" in the schoolyard. Enough time had passed for it to pretty much stop bleeding, so he was sure he could manage. For Minion's sake, he had to.

Using the fire hydrant to help, Blue climbed to his feet. The wooziness he experienced when he was finally upright passed quickly, and he was more confident than ever that he hadn't been hurt very badly. Of course, if that invulnerable jerk Wayne had just been enough of a _real_ hero, he wouldn't have been hurt at all, and both he and Minion would be back on the bus, headed off for a day at the museum. After all that had happened since he and the Warden had arrived at the school that morning, Blue was fairly certain that it wouldn't have been the wonderful adventure he'd been anticipating, but at least he would've had a chance to _see _the museum.

Well, first things first. He needed to find Minion and make sure his little friend was all right. If he wasn't...

Blue shook his head, trying to push the thought away. He didn't want to believe it was possible that Minion was dead; he _refused_ to believe it. He focused instead on his anger toward Wayne Scott and Jenny Osgood and Ms Driscoll, promising himself that he would someday get even with all of them for being so mean and cruel.

He looked around to see where he had ended up. With the freeway overpass arching above the area like a strange half-roof, the area around him was darker than Blue had expected, and, after the bustle and noise of the highway, strangely quiet. The rumble of the traffic above was still quite audible; for the moment, it drew his attention in that direction.

The green eyes narrowed as Blue's mind went to work. He may not have had Wayne's flashy superpowers, but he had extremely acute senses to go with his extraordinary intelligence and retentive memory, senses that encompassed more than a human's mere five. With all combined, he could estimate how much time had passed from the moment Jenny had thrown Minion from the bus, how fast the bus had been moving during that time, and how far they had travelled before he'd jumped out to rescue his friend. Given the arc of the bridge's span, the distance he would need to cover on the flat ground would be slightly less. Encouraged by this minor advantage, Blue started off, ignoring the stinging in his injured knee that was exacerbated by walking.

He hadn't gone far before the street he was trying to follow turned a corner and ended, the way he wanted to go blocked by a very large and dirty building. Blue didn't know what the place was for, but at the moment, it appeared completely uninhabited. All its doors were closed, its few windows shuttered, all the lighting fixtures dark. It made absolutely no sense to Blue that it should be there, standing in his way when he so desperately needed to get beyond it, but it was plain that he would have no choice but to go around it. In this dead end, the building blocked two sides, and on the third lay more obstacles in the form of high walls and locked fences and concrete pillars that held up the roadbed of the overpass. So Blue had to retrace his steps to find a way around it, his frustration and worry mounting with each added step.

When he finally came to an alley that headed in the direction he wanted, it occurred to Blue that this was the first time he had ever gone anywhere on his own. In both the prison and at school, there were always others around; Blue could hear them even when he couldn't see them. He had had many daydreams about what it would be like to see the outside world that he had only glimpsed through pictures in books and on television. All of them made the city seem like a wonderful, beautiful, sparkling place where many fascinating things happened, especially at holiday times.

But the reality, he was finding, was nothing like that at all. This place was gloomy and dismal, the streets cluttered with litter, the buildings dirty with grime and graffiti and just plain poor maintenance. The snow that was falling more thickly now was managing to cover up some of the grime and trash, but it did nothing to hide the smell. The alley was lined with dumpsters and garbage cans, and to Blue's sharper than human nose, the smell was awful, much, much worse than anything in the prison.

The other kids sometimes told Blue that he had some kind of disgusting prison stink about him, but he was sure they said it to make fun of him. He knew that the prison was actually kept very clean, as were the prisoners, because of the high risk of disease spreading like wildfire among a confined population. Blue's alien sense of smell would have been called hyperosmia by doctors, and because of it, he was more sensitive to odors than any of his classmates. It wasn't a bad ability, in and of itself; it could make things he found pleasant, especially foods, even more appealing, and sometimes it provided him with information others would totally miss.

There were downsides, of course. He had long since gotten used to the pungent and acrid smells of the industrial workshops at the prison, the oils and solvents and acids and the stinging scent of hot metal under a blowtorch. They could be overwhelming at times, but he had learned how to ignore them or filter them out when they got to be a bit much. Foul organic scents, however, were the worst, and that particular stench in this alley made him gag. The trash receptacles were full of discarded and rotting fruits and vegetables from a produce shipper, and even though the things he could see didn't look as bad as the smell indicated, it had probably been ages since the the various cans and bins had been washed. The stink was that of many months and years of accumulated residue that most humans probably didn't even notice. If they did, exposing them to it would probably be considered an effective means of torture.

But Blue _did_ notice. He wished that he still had the scarf to use as a filtering mask, yet he was glad for the cold, though it chilled him to the bone. In summer, the smell would have been unbearable. Covering his nose and mouth with his hands, he tried to hurry down the long alley as fast as he could. Between all the junk and the slippery pavement, it wasn't as fast as he would have liked, especially not with the ache still in his head. Worse, as he moved along, he began to hear strange scratching and squeaking noises coming from inside and behind the cans and dumpsters. Like any child, he began to imagine what might be making such sounds, and like the exceptionally intelligent child that he was, his imaginings became all the more detailed and disturbing.

He quickened his pace, wanting to escape the long and eerie alley, when suddenly, a black shadow leapt out of nowhere, right in front of him. Startled, Blue skidded back several steps. He saw that the shadow was only a dark-furred cat. He was about to sigh in relief when the cat jumped to the top of one of the large bins. It stalked nimbly along its edge, growled unpleasantly, then dove down between the trash containers and the wall. The instant response was a burst of squealing and scrabbling that was followed a second later by a massive exodus of rats, attempting to flee from the hunting cat.

Blue let out a strangled shriek at the veritable army of vermin skittering and squeaking in ratty voices all around him. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to get away from these ugly creatures and the horrible smells, so he started to run.

But he had no experience with running on damp and slushy pavement. After only a few steps, he slipped, and pitched face down onto the cracked asphalt. His scraped knee loudly protested this new assault, but it was totally forgotten when the panicked rats started running over _him, _their little claws scratching and poking the exposed skin of his hands and head. Some of them, he was sure, were trying to chew on him, and the sensations made his entire being shiver with horror. It was an awful feeling, and this time, Blue's shriek was full and piercing, an expression of fear and disgust as he flipped onto his back and tried to drive the creatures away with his now-flailing arms and legs.

Whether it was a result of his scream, his frantic swatting, or just pure luck, the rats soon scurried off, disappearing into their hidey holes in the shadows and sewers. When they were gone, Blue scrambled to his feet faster than he'd thought he could, and heedless of the slips and stumbles his new shoes made on the slush-covered pavement, he ran toward the other end of the alley, away from its creepy sounds and revolting smells and ugly creatures.

He was panting by the time he reached the next street, his heart pounding and his entire thin body trembling from the unexpectedly horrible experience. He took a moment to pull himself together, leaning against a corner of the nearest building and gasping to clear his lungs and nose of the dreadful stink. Some of it had gotten onto his clothes when he'd fallen, but it wasn't too bad, though his knee was hurting more than ever. He looked up to see if this new street was a nicer place than the other — and the alley, especially the alley.

Blue was disappointed. The light was only a little brighter here than in the alley, and most of the buildings were just as dark and dirty, their signs proclaiming them as warehouse and shipping firms. He didn't understand. Where were all the bright lights and beautiful buildings and happy people he saw shown so often on the television back at the prison? Blue was quite young, and had lived a strangely sheltered existence, yet he knew that the whole world wasn't a perfectly beautiful and exciting place. Still, all he had seen of Metro City was so wonderful, he had thought that maybe he had been sent here on purpose just because it _was _so exceptionally perfect. His prison "uncles" had told him otherwise often enough, but until he had seen it for himself, Blue had naively refused to believe it.

Now, he knew they were right. Across the street, he saw a small place that had brightly lit signs in the windows and many people inside. The blare of music and television and rough laughter poured from it, along with smells that to Blue's nose were worse than the garbage, strange smells, a mixture of stale smoke and sharp solvent-like fumes that made his head throb and his stomach turn queasy. Even the laughter had an odd edge to it, like the laughter he heard from some of the inmates when they were trying to be happy even though they were not. It hurt to listen to it, as it hurt whenever he listened to the other children at school laughing and having fun when he was not allowed to be a part of it. Blue felt tears pricking at his eyes, brought on by the jumble of feelings churning through him, his physical discomfort, his sense of being lost and alone in a world that didn't want him, his fear that he would never see Minion again.

That last thought stopped the tears before they could fall. It wouldn't help Minion if he let himself be a cry-baby; it would only make things worse by wasting time Minion might not have. For a second, he wondered if he could go over to the place across the street — the sign over the door called it "The Office," though it didn't look or sound or smell like any office Blue had ever seen — to ask for help. Somebody who knew the area better might be able to tell him how to get where he needed to go.

It took only another second for Blue to decide against it. Offices, even strange ones, were not a place for kids, unless they were being disciplined. Besides, he was pretty sure he knew what would happen once they got a look at his strangely-colored face. At best, they would call for the police, who would certainly take him back to the prison, and he was not going home until he found Minion. Miserable but resolute, Blue pushed away from the wall and started following this new road back toward the overpass.

Rather than feel sorry for himself as he walked down the street, half-limping from his hurt knee and an ankle that had gotten a little achey after his slip-and-fall in the alley, Blue focused his thoughts on Minion, who might be much worse off and in need of his help. Even if his sphere wasn't damaged, his little friend might have been badly shaken by the fall from the bridge, and he was just as lost and alone here as Blue. Probably worse, since he didn't look the least bit human, and tended to freak out people if he tried to talk. Minion needed him, and that was all that mattered.

After he had gone a few blocks without any new obstacles, walking in the clearest part of the road, halfway to its center, Blue began to feel somewhat encouraged, for this new street was definitely taking him the way he wanted to go. The pavement here was less slippery than in the alley, as something had been scattered across it that appeared to be melting the falling snow. Blue's sharp nose caught the scent of salt, mixed with some other chemicals. Nothing that would hurt him, although if Minion's globe _had _broken and he was lying in a patch of this stuff, it could easily burn the fish's more delicate skin.

The boy's worry ramped up another notch, and he hurried all the more. He tried to run, but his hurt knee and aching ankle very quickly let him know that they were having none of it, so he dropped back to the fastest walk he could manage. He was so focused on the need to get to Minion as fast as he could, he didn't notice the truck speeding up behind him him until the blare of its horn was screaming in his ears.

Blue turned on his heel so fast, he almost fell, but the terrifying sight of the huge brown truck barreling toward him set off his most primitive instincts in time to get out of its way. His frantic dive ended with him face down once again on the slushy wet pavement. He landed a split-second before the truck roared past him like some angry beast ready to flatten anything that got in its way. Then it was gone, the stink of its exhaust a grimy cloud in its wake. When the sound of it was now a muffled growl in the distance, Blue pulled himself together again and started another painful climb to his feet.

Was this the way the whole world _really_ was? Did even trucks bully people, pushing them around and threatening their lives so they could do whatever they wanted? If that was true, Blue thought that maybe he was better off in the prison. Its walls and security measures kept him in, true, but they also kept other nasty things out.

As he stood up, the boy felt cold wetness atop his head. He reached up with one hand to see why, and found that the warden's new cap had somehow come off when he'd dived for his life. Mindful of his promise to take good care of it, he searched the ground in front of him, panicked when it wasn't where he'd thought it should be, then aghast when he spotted it behind him. The sudden movement of his jump to save his life must have flung it back off his head, and it now lay in the road, dirty and wet from being crushed beneath the tires of the truck.

Gingerly, Blue picked up the poor thing. It was thoroughly soaked, with black tread marks on one side. He tried to shake off the dirt and squeeze out as much of the wet as he could, but to little avail. The cap needed to be washed, and given the oily smell of the dark tire tracks, he was pretty sure even that wouldn't save it. The hat was pretty much ruined, and after he had promised, very sincerely, to take care of it. Blue tried putting it back on his head, but soaked as it was, it only made his head feel colder.

He grimaced. "This just isn't fair!" he muttered. He had been trying so hard to be good. Why was everything going so wrong?

He had no answer, of course — at least, no answer that he wanted to think about, that he was willing to accept. So he tried to push those thoughts aside as well, and decided to stuff the hat into his jacket pocket. Maybe someone in the prison laundry would know of a way to get it clean and fix it—

A new thought popped into Blue's head, one that he hadn't yet considered. What if he never got back to the prison? What if he was too lost to be found, or Ms Driscoll told them he had run away? Would they come looking for him? Would they take him back only to lock him away forever? Or would they just forget about him, and leave him to fend for himself in a world that he didn't really know, where people usually took one look at him and hated him?

Blue shivered, not from the cold or the wet snow. There were worse things than being the odd man out, he realized. He could wind up abandoned completely. How could someone like him, a blue alien child, survive without shelter, without food, without... anything?

He couldn't, and Blue knew it. His need to find Minion soared higher than ever. His mother had told him that Minion would take care of him, and he had, in ways that most people didn't recognize. Minion would know what to do, he was sure of it. Minion would help him find a way to make things right again...

..._if _Minion could. The full awfulness of what he would lose if he lost his only friend hit Blue hard, and made him start moving again. He had to find Minion, and he had to be all right, he just _had _to...

A strange sick feeling rose up in Blue's throat, not the kind of sick one gets after eating something their stomach doesn't like, but the kind of sick one gets from trying to swallow a horrible truth.

What if he was already too late?

The idea of life without his companion, his best friend, made Blue feel sicker than the nauseating smells in the alley, than the ache in his knee, the soreness in his ankle, the throb at the back of his head. It felt like—

No. He wouldn't think it, _couldn't_ think it. He would find Minion. He _would._

A kind of raw determination settled into Blue's gut, pushing out the sick queasiness and refusing to let it back in. No matter what others might say of him, he was not a quitter. He didn't give up when others told him something was impossible, and he wasn't about to start giving up by telling it to himself. His little face settled into a look that went beyond mere stubbornness. He trudged on, being careful to stay near the curb, to avoid any more near-collisions with the trucks that occasionally rumbled by.

Another block ahead, the street bent to the left and intersected another road. In the middle of the intersection, three large black birds were pecking at something that looked both flat and furry, squabbling over it. Blue looked a little more closely and saw that the furry thing was a dead rat that had plainly been flattened under the wheels of one of the heavy trucks. The sight made him shudder, remembering the pricking and gnawing feelings from the rats that had crawled over him back in the alley. Would the birds have started eating the rat if it wasn't already dead? He didn't know, but he couldn't stop the image of these nasty-looking creatures pecking at Minion from popping into his thoughts. He also felt a sudden need to protect his own hairless head, afraid that it might be an appealing sight to some stupid bird with a wickedly sharp beak. He pulled the still wet cap out of his pocket and put it on, preferring the clammy feeling against his skin to the sensation of vulnerable nakedness. He looked away from the eating birds and hurried on.

Finally, after walking another two blocks and enduring a few splashes of cold slush-water from passing trucks, Blue came to a smaller road that went toward and under the overpass. His senses told him that this was near the place where Jenny had thrown Minion from the bus. The side street had a yellow road sign at the intersection proclaiming it a "dead end," which Blue hoped would mean little or no traffic, so he could be free to search the area without taking the risk of getting run over by another careless truck driver. As he moved down the currently empty street, he peered up at the overpass and saw what he had expected: the straps of Minion's carrier dangling from the top of the guard wall, fluttering slightly in the light winds. Encouraged, he hurried on, impatient to see his lost friend.

But when he reached the place where the globe should have been, Blue saw nothing. No snow had been falling when Minion had slipped off the rail, so he didn't expect to find any tracks his ball might have left as he rolled away. Minion wasn't stupid; if there had been any sign of danger from vehicles driving down the street, he would have moved to where it was safe. Blue glanced around quickly and saw nothing that looked like his friend's sphere, although he saw plenty of dirty tire tracks in the slush, all of which were already beginning to fill with fresh snow.

Even though he had never been free to wander the streets like an ordinary child, Blue's quick mind figured correctly that any businesses along this drive had closed for the day, as the snowy tracks showed that no new traffic had recently passed through. But if it had been as busy as the number of tracks indicated, it wouldn't have been a safe place for Minion to stay. Blue didn't think his friend would have gone too far unless he had no other choice, because he surely must have known that his young master would try to come for him as soon as he could. With that in mind, the boy started toward one curb, searching for a likely place where Minion might have hidden for his own safety.

Before he gone more than a few steps, his foot came down on something that crunched under his shoe with a distressingly glass-like sound. Afraid to move and almost more afraid to look down for fear of what he might see, Blue screwed up his courage and held perfectly still while he did the latter. His foot had come down in the middle of a wide tire track. In it and around it were shards of what looked to be clear glass, many too small to have a shape beyond being sharply pointed, but some large enough to show a definite ball-like curve. All around the spot, the snow was melting down into a small puddle that lay between it and the pavement.

The awful possibility of what this might mean was suddenly made even more awful when Blue noticed marks on the snow less deep than those made by the trucks, an uneven scraggly trail leading off toward the side of the road. Blue hoped that this might mean that Minion had somehow survived being run over to make his way to a bigger and still liquid puddle near the curb. His eyes followed the trail, and his surge of hope was crushed when he saw several large rats in the gutter, chewing on something they had dragged from the place where Blue stood.

_"STOP!" _the young alien screamed, horrified by the sight. Galvanized into immediate action, he charged the rodents to drive them away from their prey. But instead of running off and leaving it behind, they fled and dragged it with them, scurrying into a sewer grate and disappearing before Blue could reach them.

"No! _MINION!" _he shrieked as he leapt for the grate, trying to stop the awful, ugly creatures from taking his friend beyond his reach. But he was too late even before he hit the ground. _ "Minion!"_ he cried again, yelling down into the darkness, hoping the fish would hear him and call back.

But the only reply was the echo of his own voice.

Blue scrambled back to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no!" he chanted to himself while his fingers searched for some means of opening the grate. It was one solid piece of heavy iron, firmly set into the strong concrete of the curb. Wherever the rats had gone, Blue could not follow.

Shocked, he looked all around, calling out his friend's name, searching for any sign to tell him that he was wrong, that he had made a mistake and Minion was alive and well, and was just now coming out of his hiding place, having heard his master calling. There was no movement but the falling snow and the flickering shadows from the overpass, no sound but the traffic on the highway above and the rumble and brassy horn of another truck driving by on the outer street. Blue didn't want to believe it, but he had run out of ideas. Faced with evidence he hadn't wanted to see, he had to admit the truth.

Minion was gone. He'd come too late to save his only friend.

Defeated, Blue's tired mind and battered body finally ran out of strength even as his heart ran out of hope. He sank back onto his heels, then sagged all the way down to the ground, curled up in the cold gutter, and wept.

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Shortly before two o'clock, Warden Thurmer headed back to the school to pick up Blue. He was already running later than he would have liked due to a meeting that ran longer than anyone had wanted, seeing that it was Christmas Eve. Though there were always grumbles among the guards about working over the holidays — an unavoidable necessity, since the prison could not be left unattended — a system combining volunteers and a rotating schedule kept anyone from feeling as if they were being singled out for onerous duty, over and over again. The warden himself would be there until five, his normal quitting time, an effort he always made so that it didn't look as if he was getting special consideration. He planned to spend the evening with his wife and three kids, following their usual Christmas Eve traditions; he had even given thought to bringing Blue home with him, so that for once in his young life, the little alien boy could experience the feeling of being with a family at an especially happy time of year.

Unfortunately, he had had to table the notion at least for this year, when his in-laws called the night before with the "delightful" news that they would be joining them tomorrow. Thurmer didn't hate his wife's parents, but they and his kids knew nothing about Blue. The children, he knew, would not have had any problem accepting Blue. They were good kids (unlike the Scott boy and all the other brats at Blue's school), and as the warden's youngest son had been born with a serious spinal defect that left him with a deformed neck and shoulder and a partially crippled leg, all three youngsters were unusually kind toward anyone who was handicapped or somehow looked different.

It was his in-laws who were the problem. So long as Blue remained a local "urban legend," it was possible to keep him safe, to persuade the press and the civil authorities to keep proof of his existence from going national. But his in-laws were from New Jersey, and both were major league gossip-mongers, always looking for the next juicy story to spread along the entire eastern seaboard. After one look at Blue, they would tell so many people outside Metro City about the prison's obviously alien resident, there would soon be no way for anyone to protect Blue from the media and the scientists. Maybe next year, Thurmer could take the boy home for Christmas. He at least had a present for Blue waiting back at the prison, an assortment of sketch books and pens and pencils and markers and basic drafting supplies that he knew would delight the creative little boy, along with the contributions of homemade cookies and candy some of the more soft-hearted guards had brought for him.

The snow that had started shortly before noon was coming down more thickly now as the temperatures had dropped and the wind had shifted to blow in off the lake, bringing with it the inevitable lake-effect snow. Mildly annoyed by the delay, Thurmer wasted a few more minutes scraping and brushing the stuff off his car. By the time he got on the road, he could see that the bus was back and already parked in front of the school. Cars and vans were coming and going, picking up the children as they left the bus amid a lot of excited chattering and calls of "Merry Christmas!" He suspected that Blue would be the last one off, as unpopular kids usually got stuck in the back of the bus. So he waited, listening to music on the car's radio until the crowd had thinned.

When he climbed out, only the Scotts' limo, the teacher's van, and a couple of cars remained. As Thurmer walked toward it, Wayne and Ms Driscoll emerged from the bus, along with four other children. The various parents came to meet them, but of Blue, there was no sign.

The warden frowned, smelling trouble. He didn't immediately presume that Blue had caused it, but he suspected that his young ward was reluctant to get off the bus because something unpleasant had happened. He peered into the windows, expecting to see the red cap or the blue head somewhere inside, but the only occupant he could spot was the bus driver.

Still frowning, he strode up to where the Scotts were holding court, basking in the excessive thanks and praise of the teacher and the remaining parents. "Where's Blue?" he asked bluntly, getting right to the point.

Ms Driscoll wrinkled her nose in disgustingly cheerful distaste. "Gone," she said in an offhand manner. "And good riddance to the little troublemaker!"

Even though he had seen some bad attitudes in his line of work, Thurber found the teacher's appalling. "What do you mean, gone? Are you saying Blue got lost, and you just left him behind?"

Ms Driscoll's expression became even more dismissive. "No, I mean the little monster ran away, and none too soon, I might add! Why, he endangered the entire class by opening the rear emergency door while the bus was moving at high speed, and he tried to push one of the students off, right in the middle of traffic, and after she was trying to be nice to him!"

The warden didn't believe it. "Not Blue," he declared, sure of it. "He may get upset and raise his voice from time to time, and some of his little projects may make a mess when they get out of hand, but he would _never_ deliberately try to hurt anyone, not like that. Are you sure you have your facts right?"

If she didn't, the teacher was doing an excellent job of hiding it. "Of _course_ I'm sure! The entire class saw the whole thing! Why, if Wayne hadn't intervened, a little girl might have been killed!" At this, she flashed the Scotts a glowing smile of approval, to which Wayne reacted with his usual smugly enthusiastic pride. "Blue ran away to escape punishment — a justly earned punishment, I must say! He took off with that ridiculous fish of his before Wayne or I could stop him, and I wasn't about to put the other children in danger just to bring back a juvenile delinquent. You've been too lenient with him, Mr. Thurmer, and I was not about to spoil the day for the other children, delaying the trip they'd earned while I chased after one bad seed."

Thurmer's scowl was dark with anger. "That's part of your job," he reminded the woman. "I know you don't like Blue, and I know you didn't want him along on this trip, but no matter what he did, his welfare while under your supervision is _your _responsibility. If you think I won't mention this to the proper authorities, you're sadly mistaken." Oddly enough it was Wayne who seemed more chastised by his remarks than the teacher.

Ms Driscoll scowled right back. "Oh, of course, it's my responsibility to abandon more than a dozen children who are behaving themselves when one goes out of his way to cause trouble! It's just what I said: you're far too easy on him! Opening an emergency door on a moving vehicle is _not _an innocent childish prank! And trying push off another student...! Why, that's nothing short of attempted _murder!"_

"Then you should've called the police!" the warden snapped back, still unwilling to believe that what the angry woman was saying was the whole truth. "It wouldn't have been too hard for them to find a blue-skinned boy who's never been off on his own before! And you call yourself a 'gifted educator'...!"

Ms Driscoll was about to fire back a scathing reply when Lady Scott stepped between them, her hands fluttering as if trying to shoo away a pesky gnat. "Now, now, there's no need for such unpleasantry!" she exclaimed in an overly sweet voice well practiced in tones of condescension. "After all, it's Christmas Eve! I'm sure this is all nothing but a harmless misunderstanding. If this poor orphan boy is lost, I'm quite certain our City's Finest will be able to locate him in no time at all. Boys will be boys, and I'll wager the child simply wandered off in the museum and missed the bus. Why don't we just step inside the school for a moment and make a call to the curator? He's such a lovely man, a good friend of mine, and I'm sure we can have this whole thing settled in just a minute or two."

The teacher continued to seethe as the warden continued to scowl, but after a moment, Ms Driscoll made a show of conceding to Mrs. Scott's brilliant suggestion. "A splendid idea, Lady Scott," she fawned. "Of course, we can have this dealt with quickly, and no harm done." At the very least, she figured that eventually the police _would _find the blue alien, in trouble as usual, and the warden would have no further cause to complain — or to report her, since she'd be proven right. She strode off to the schoolhouse, Mrs. Scott following a few steps behind.

"Go sit in the car with your father, Wayne darling," the wealthy woman called with an airy gesture toward the limo, to which Mr. Scott had retreated when the yelling started. "I'll be along in just a minute."

"Yes, Mother," Wayne replied, though he didn't hurry to obey.

Thurmer began heading after the two women only to be stopped by the boy's hand on his arm. He couldn't have continued if he'd wanted, so strong was Wayne's grip. When the women had disappeared into the building and the other kids and their families had gone, he looked up at the warden with an uneasy expression.

"I don't like Blue," he told Thurmer quietly, hesitant to admit to such an unbecoming attitude. "He's weird and funny looking, and he never does things the way he should. But..." He paused, trying to get out the words he obviously didn't want to say. "It didn't happen the way Ms Driscoll said, Warden Thurmer," he finally managed to choke out. "Jenny Osgood was the one who opened the emergency door, not Blue. Everybody knew she was mad at him for being a snitch, and wanted to get even. _She_ opened the door so she could throw his pet fish off the bridge. She almost fell out of the bus, but Blue grabbed her and pulled her back."

Thurmer was frankly astonished. _"He_ saved _her_ after she threw Minion off the bus?" Even he found that hard to believe.

Wayne shook his head. "No. The bus bounced around just when she opened the door, and that's when she almost fell out. I think Blue saved her only because she was holding his fish. But then she pushed him down and threw the fish out the door before he could get up. I _would've_ helped!" he hurried to add, throwing back his shoulders in a display of heroism, his excessive emphasis saying quite the opposite of his words. "But the other kids were in the way. I had to climb out a window to fly around back and save them from being thrown off."

The warden began to see things more clearly. "So Blue didn't cause any trouble, did he?"

Wayne looked away, unwilling to meet the grown-up's keen eyes. "No, sir, not really. Jenny started it. He asked me to go after his fish and save it when she threw it away, but it had already fallen off the bridge. Ms Driscoll ordered us to get back to our seats, and she told me to close the door so the other kids wouldn't be in danger."

"So when did Blue 'run away'?"

"When I told him I wouldn't — er, _couldn't_ go after his fish. It didn't matter, anyway!" the superboy added in his own defense. "It was a pretty high bridge, and the fish probably got smashed and killed when it hit the ground!"

Oh, yes, Thurmer was definitely getting the real picture. "And you _said_ that to Blue? That his friend got smashed and killed?"

Wayne was definitely uncomfortable now. "Why not? It was true! But he wouldn't believe me, so he jumped off the bus to go after the fish himself. I was gonna go after him, but Ms Driscoll told me to get back inside and close the door right away. I had to think of the other kids, keeping them safe."

Now, the warden was aghast. "Was the bus moving when he jumped?" Wayne nodded. "How fast?"

The boy squirmed. "P-pretty fast. But he wasn't hurt, honest! Blue can move _real_ fast when he wants to, and I saw him get away from the cars and stand up by the side of the road. He _wasn't_ hurt." He repeated it in an effort to convince himself.

Thurmer suspected young Scott was right. He knew from his own experience that Blue was amazingly quick and nimble, and surprisingly sturdy despite his slender appearance. Still, if Wayne was telling the truth, that Blue had run off trying to save Minion after such a fall, there were worse hurts his littlest "inmate" would be suffering if he found his fishy companion badly injured, or dead.

Quickly, he changed his mind about going after the two women and started to make his own plans, which involved official channels unavailable to them. "Do you know where you were when Blue jumped off the bus?" Even as he asked the question, he recognized the irony of the situation, which Blue had innocently predicted the day before.

Wayne both nodded and shrugged. "On the crosstown freeway, going into the city. I don't know _exactly_ where, but it was on the really high part of the bridge."

Well, that at least narrowed it down to a five mile span of highway — and all the streets and alleys and buildings beneath and around it. This was not going to be easy. The warden sighed. "You really should've gone after him, Mr. Scott."

The boy winced. "I suppose — but really, Blue _is _an awful troublemaker! He's just plain bad, sir. Everyone says so!"

Thurmer shook his head, sadly. "Son, I know what everyone says. They all say that you're going to grow up to be a hero, too. That's quite a lot for anyone to live up to, even you."

"But I _will _be a hero!" Wayne declared, puffing out his chest in pride.

"Maybe you will," the warden allowed. "Some people do grow up to be all the good things everyone expects them to be. But I've seen a lot more of this world than you have, young man, and in my line of work, you find out that the saddest truth of all is that if enough people keep telling them so, some folks will live _down _to what everyone expects of them, because they're never given a real chance to show who they _really _are, inside."

Wayne blinked, completely baffled. "H-huh?"

Thurmer smiled crookedly. "Just remember what I said," he recommended. "Some day, you might understand." With that, he turned and hurried back to his car and its two-way radio, wanting to implement his own plan for locating Blue before the biased teacher and the society matron could botch the job completely and make matters worse.

A befuddled Wayne Scott watched him go, a tall figure that was quickly obscured behind the curtains of thickly falling snow. He _did_ remember the warden's words, but it would be another thirty years before he finally began to truly understand them.

* * *

Three hours later, the sun had gone down, the snow was still falling, and the searchers Thurmer had called upon to locate Blue came up empty handed. He had called the police from the radio unit in his car as he'd headed back to the prison, just in case the women took it into their heads to alert the authorities. He didn't want Mrs. Scott's snooty blatherings and Ms Driscoll's bigoted ravings to get so much as a chance to reach the ears of greedy parasites who wouldn't think twice about going after Blue to turn him over to the crackpots who were offering big money for proof of extraterrestrial life. Even if they ultimately decided that Blue was just an ordinary human freak, the poor child would go through hell before the circus ended, and the slim hope he had of a reasonably happy life would be destroyed. Someday, the blue alien would have to face such people on his own, but Thurmer was determined to make sure that day didn't come until the boy was at least a young man and able to defend himself.

Instead, he called up the best of the men the state had to track down escaped prisoners, ones already aware of Blue's existence and sympathetic with Thurmer's desire to protect him. After making the calls to set things in motion, the warden phoned his wife and told her he would be late. She wasn't happy about it, but at least she understood that it was his responsibility to remain until the lost boy had been found.

"Nothing," Officer Davis, who had been put in charge of coordinating the reports as they came in, told the warden when he'd collected all available information. "They found the carrier my wife made for Minion on the guard rail along the stretch of interstate that the Scott boy mentioned, but Blue wasn't there — which is good, since it means he _wasn't_ hurt when he jumped out into traffic. They did find the spot where Blue slid down an embankment to reach the lower streets, and they were able to trace him to the area under the point where Minion would've fallen. Walker said they found some broken pieces of glass that could've been the fish globe in the driveway of a trucking firm that handles shipments for some specialty grocers and caterers, but no evidence of Minion or any other critter, not even a few scales. After that..." He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "It's like Blue fell off the face of the Earth. Not a trace of him."

The warden snorted derisively. "Which I'm sure would suit that idiot teacher and her pompous society friend just fine." He tried to keep his anger with the two full-of-themselves women down to a simmer, distracting himself by scanning the map of the industrial district spread out atop his desk. He peered at the myriad notations that had been added to it during past search efforts. "That area's full of warehouses and truck loading pads and small factories, isn't it?"

Davis nodded, getting his real point. "Half of which are up for sale or abandoned, right now. Plenty of places for a cold and scared little kid to hide, especially if he's upset about losing his friend."

Thurmer cocked one dark eyebrow. "You think Minion was killed?"

"I don't know how he could've survived," Davis admitted, albeit reluctantly. "I know that the ball he's in is tough — nobody's ever figured out exactly what it's made of — but that drop is over a hundred feet. Even if the ball didn't shatter, the poor little guy could've been crushed against the inside from the impact. Nat Smith in forensics was pretty sure the water in it couldn't've provided enough of a cushion, might've even done more harm than good. If the fall didn't kill him outright, he thinks Minion would've been badly hurt."

"That's what Smith said about the way Blue's pod landed, too, and yet he _and_ Minion came through a rough landing without a scratch," Thurmer pointed out. "It had better safety padding, true, but I have a feeling there's more to these materials we can't identify than meets the eye. Blue keeps saying his parents told him Minion was there to protect him, and I'd think they'd want to protect their son's protector with something better than plain glass or even Lexan. I wouldn't write off Minion just yet. Have the teams quit for the night?"

"All but one," Davis replied. "We kept them out as long as we could, what with the holiday and the whole thing being off the record. Schreiber's team volunteered to keep at it until midnight, if the weather doesn't get worse. He and his partner are Jewish, and they said they could both use the overtime more than an extra night off. The police chief said he'd have a squad car make a pass through that neighborhood every hour for the rest of the night, but until Blue comes out on his own or Christmas is over, they can't promise anything more."

"At least it's something," the warden said with a heavy sigh. He looked at his brightly wrapped gift for the boy and the cookie tins and small containers of sweets from the guards. He wondered if Blue would ever get a chance to see them. The warehouse district was usually a quiet part of town, especially on holidays, but Thurmer also knew that when it was at its most deserted, some of the kids from the rougher gangs would hang out there, trying to avoid the police. They had been known to do some nasty things to people who accidentally came across them. Adult men and older boys they would beat up; women and girls and young boys...

He shook his head, hard, trying to dispel the gruesome image. "God, I hope Blue comes out of this okay," he breathed, as much an honest prayer as a wish. "That poor little guy just never catches a break."

Davis' chuckle was not really one of humor, having had similar thoughts. "Getting soft, eh, Ralph?"

Thurmer's answering smile was watery, but genuine. "Always have been with kids, and you know it, Steve. Blue is one hell of a smart boy, and I'd hate to see him used as the lab rat for a bunch of science experiments just because bigots like Carolyn Driscoll can't get it through their pea brains that _different_ doesn't mean _bad._ I've seen too many products of her kind of 'progressive thinking' end up here as lifers because some prejudiced bully slapped 'em with an incorrigible label when they were young and never let up. Blue's such a sweet little kid, it'd break my heart to see him wind up in reform school, or worse. I can't imagine anything more disappointing than to see him go wrong because a bunch of so-called do-gooders pushed him into standing up for himself, in a bad way. Most of the people who end up behind bars started out as abused kids who were angry with the families and the systems that let 'em down."

David unhappily agreed. "Yeah, getting pushed around by a spoiled rich kid with superpowers and a hero complex can't be a good place to start off life. And if Minion winds up hurt, or worse, because that Scott brat was more concerned with showing off for the teacher than in helping someone who actually needed him... Well, I can't see that ending anywhere good."

"My thoughts exactly. Whatever happens, we'll just have to try and make the best of it — and hope that in time, Blue does, too."

"I'll keep praying for that," Davis vowed, and meant it.

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Hey there, little one, are you okay?"

The voice, which seemed to have been saying the same thing for a while, finally stirred Blue in his cocoon of misery. He had no idea how long he had been lying there, but he was cold and wet and had long since run out of tears. He was shivering, for the snow was coming down more heavily now, and the shadows under the expressway had gotten darker and gloomier. It was plainly later in the day, and he had no way of knowing that miles away at that very moment, Warden Thurmer was leaving the prison to come fetch him at the school. The question was repeated, and he thought for a moment that it might be Minion, until he felt what was plainly a hand touch his arm. No, he didn't know who this was, and he didn't care. If it wasn't Minion, he just couldn't care. He rolled away as far as he could, turning his back to the stranger.

The voice spoke again. "Well, at least you're moving, that's good, but looks to me like you're turning blue from the cold, and that's not." The hand moved to touch the back of his exposed neck. The palm of the hand was scratchy, like old woolen socks, but the bare fingertips were warm and gentle. "Hmm, you're cold as ice, all right, and these wet clothes you're in sure can't be helping. C'mon now, little fella, let's get you out of this puddle and — Jehoshaphat!"

The peculiar word was spoken in great surprise when the stranger carefully rolled him out of the half-frozen water and slush, even though Blue was about as cooperative as a sack of potatoes. He didn't bother to open his eyes, and wished that this person would just leave him alone. He was sure that he would; the odd word hadn't exactly sounded pleased, and when most people got a good look at him, they were quick to get away from Blue, as if he were some kind of contagious disease.

But he heard no evidence of the person getting up and running away. In fact, what he heard after a few moments was a warm chuckle. "Well, now, there's one on me! I thought you'd gone blue from the cold, and here it looks like that's just the way you are. Can't say I've ever met a person who's blue — who's _got _the blues, maybe, but not blue like a summer sky. It's something new to me, that's for sure!"

Even in his doldrums, Blue felt twinges of surprise. This person didn't sound like he was making fun of him; he was talking like he was actually... interested, and his voice seemed very naturally friendly, a little like Officer Davis' voice, only deeper. His curiosity piqued, Blue cracked open one eye to take a peek at the stranger.

The man, who was smiling, noticed, and smiled more broadly. He had a lined and weathered face that was older than most of Blue's prison "uncles," but his brown eyes were bright and clear and friendly. His hair and beard were a little longer than Blue was used to seeing at the prison, a little bit ragged, but a clean silver-white very different from Big Jake's dingy yellowed gray. He was a husky fellow, and was wearing a big coat of tired red wool, with a slightly stained white scarf around his neck and a red knit hat on his head that was very much like the one the warden had loaned him. His brown gloves were missing the fingertips, the knees of his brown trousers had been patched, and his black winter boots were worn. His nose and cheeks were reddened with the cold, and still, he had stopped to check on the strange boy lying in the gutter. That fact amazed Blue, since not that long ago, Ms Driscoll hadn't cared if he lived or died. This was, he thought, most extraordinary.

The green eyes opened fully, blinking in wonder as his mind whizzed with possibilities. He quickly settled on one. "Are — are you Mr. Claus?" He was doubtful, since there was no evidence of the wonderful inventions the stories had talked about, at least in Blue's interpretation of things. But his clothing seemed sort of right, and there was no denying that this was a kinder person than Blue had expected to encounter in this miserable place. That he hadn't screamed or cursed on seeing his blue skin — and Blue knew a lot about curses, having been exposed to a remarkable variety of them in the prison, and the odd word this man had uttered didn't really sound like one — placed him well into the benevolent person category Mr. Claus was said to inhabit.

The man laughed more fully now, a laugh that was neither mocking nor cruel. "You never can tell, kid, you never can tell," he said in a good-humored manner. "My name _is_ Nick, though, which I guess is close enough for some. What's yours?"

"Blue," he answered, suddenly finding the name completely inadequate, like a stupid movie he'd once seen where a boy was named "Boy."

Nick appeared to agree. "Blue? That's a nickname, right?"

Blue shrugged. "It's what everyone calls me. I didn't think it was too bad. In the—" He caught himself before he said _prison. _At school, everybody knew about him living there, but he had a feeling this might turn the stranger against him, and he found he didn't want that. "Where I live, there's a Mr. Brown and a Mrs. Green, and a Mr. Black and a Dr. White. Uncle Jimbo has a wife named Scarlet, Uncle Dirk's daughter is Violet, and Uncle Mack says his girlfriend is called Pinky. I didn't think Blue was so bad, since I _am."_

Nick saw his point. "That's a fact. Are you lost, Blue, or did you run away from home?"

Blue considered his answer, and decided on the truth. "Both," he admitted meekly. "I... lost a friend of mine, and I came here to find him. I didn't, and I don't think he's coming back." Fresh tears welled in the big green eyes as the thought of what had happened to Minion tore at his heart.

Nick saw his distress, and was sympathetic. "That's rough. But maybe he's lost, too, and it'll just take a little more time before he shows up."

But Blue shook his head, sure now that such a miracle wouldn't happen. He remembered the sight of the rats dragging their prey down into the sewers, and shuddered.

The old man patted his shoulder, seeing his tears. "There, there, son, it'll be all right, you'll see. I'll understand if you don't want to go home yet, but we've got to get you someplace warmer and drier. The cold may have nothing to do with the color of your skin, but from the way you're shaking, it's plain that you're frozen right to the marrow."

He helped the boy sit up. Blue winced when the man put one hand behind his head to lift it from the pavement and pressed against the bump. Nick frowned, but with worry. His fingers touched the spot more carefully as his eyes swept the slender body. "That's a fair sized lump you've got back there, and I see your knee's taken a few scrapes, too. Anything else been hurt?"

"My ankle," Blue said as he pointed to the one he'd twisted. Even as he said it, he wondered why he was telling this to a stranger. In his experience, when people asked if he was hurt, too often it was just to hurt him some more. It was admitting to weakness, and could be exploited. "It's not too bad," he added, thinking that if he minimized the situation, there would be no negative repercussions.

"It's bad enough," Nick contradicted, "since it's a bit of a hike to my place. But you're small, and it won't be any trouble to carry you. Been a long time since I carried kids piggyback."

Blue had no idea what he meant. His confusion must have been obvious, so Nick explained to him how it was done. "I'll be careful with that knee, I promise," he said when the boy reacted to the whole idea with another doubtful look. "I've got some things to take care of it proper back at my place, and I'll wager you're getting a mite hungry, too, aren't you?"

At the mere mention of food, Blue's stomach let out a huge growl, embarrassing him. He was grateful when Nick didn't laugh. "We can take care of that, too. You like peppermint, son?"

Blue nodded vigorously without thinking. Mint was one of those things that his acute sense of smell made wonderfully enjoyable, though he only got it when one of his "uncles" or a guard slipped him a piece of candy, usually a tiny green or white pellet, but occasionally a little round disc. When Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a red and white striped stick longer than one of the boy's fingers, Blue's eyes went wide. He had gotten something like this last Christmas from one of the guards, but that had been a whole year ago.

Nick smiled. "Go ahead, take it," he said when the boy hesitated. "I've got more."

Blue reached out tentatively, afraid that this was a trick — the kids at school had done such things often enough, offering him treats only to snatch them away at the last second. Nick saw his hesitance. He placed the candy in the timidly outstretched hand and gently closed Blue's fingers around it. "All yours," he assured the child, smiling more broadly when Blue immediately popped one end of the stick into his mouth and started sucking. He took a good look at the boy's thin body, now that he wasn't so tightly curled in on himself. Concern seeped into his expression. "Yeah, we'll have to see about you getting some proper food. You're nothing but skin and bones. Who's been looking after you?"

The question stopped Blue's eager sucking on the peppermint stick. He pulled it from his mouth, his brief look of pleasure suddenly turning to heartbreak, his joy in the treat gone. "Minion," he said softly, his eyes once again filling with traitorous tears. "But he's gone."

"Minion?" Nick repeated. "Is that the friend you were looking for?" When Blue nodded, he tried to be encouraging. "Well, it's a big city. He's probably looking for you, too. I'm sure he'll turn up soon."

Nick's confidence was too much for Blue. The tears escaped despite his best efforts to hold them back in front of this stranger. "I don't think so," he said in a small voice. "I — I think he's dead."

The man's smile disappeared. "Are you sure? Did you see something happen to him?"

Blue shrugged miserably. "I think so. I'm not sure. But what I saw... It scared me."

Nick mulled this over. He'd been on the streets long enough to know what the boy might have seen. "I imagine it did," he consoled, patting Blue's good knee as he pulled an old but clean handkerchief from another pocket to wipe away his tears. "Lots of scary things happen out here, but some things look scarier than they really are. Are you sure it was your friend you saw?"

Blue started to say yes, but being basically honest at heart, he stopped himself before the word left his lips. He had to admit that he wasn't _sure_ that it had been Minion the rats had dragged into the sewer, but if that was so, then something else had happened to take him away without leaving so much as a trace beyond those glass shards. Maybe he had fallen into one of the trucks that had left their tracks in the snow. If so, he could be a hundred miles away by now, with no way of getting home. Or maybe someone had found him and taken him, and was holding him prisoner...

He shivered, trying not to think these awful thoughts. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But he's gone. He didn't wait for me, and I know he would've, unless something bad happened."

"That's always a possibility," Nick agreed. "But isn't it also possible that he's just gotten lost out there, looking for you? Don't you think he _would_ look for you?"

Blue considered this for a moment, then nodded. "He would." Of that, he was certain. "But then, how will he find me, if we're both lost?"

Nick's encouraging smile returned. "There're a few ways. We can go to the police, if you think he'd go to them..." When Blue instantly shook his head, he dropped the idea. "Then the next best thing is to use the old Boy Scout way: find a safe spot and stay put. If you keep moving, you get more lost, and make it harder to be found. This isn't the safest place, here, especially not with you half-frozen and the snow coming down. Sometimes after dark, this district can get a little rough, and it's no place for a youngster like you, all alone. We'll go back to my place. It's safe, you can get dry and warm, have something better to eat, and stay there as long as you like. I know how to leave word on the streets so when your friend comes looking for you, he'll be able to find you, but not the police or anyone you don't want to find you. Does that sound good?"

It was a plan, and Blue liked that. He always liked having plans for things, so he knew just what to do to reach his goal. Still, he wasn't sure. It was true, he didn't _know _that the rats had been dragging Minion, as he also knew that there was no _definite _evidence that his sphere had been broken. He was pretty certain that Minion would have waited for him to come, if he hadn't been hurt in the fall — but how long had he lain there at the bottom of the steep embankment, unconscious? It could have been five minutes, or it could have been five hours. And if it _had_ been hours, Minion might very well have started to come after _him._ He knew that his fishy friend would trust that his master would try to find him, and if he didn't come...

The myriad possibilities of the situation started to make Blue's head spin, and brought back the throb from his lump. He didn't know what was the right thing to do, and the sound of his frustration escaped him as a whimper.

Nick could see his quandary, and took pity on him. "It's all right, Blue, everything's going to be all right. A little fellow like you shouldn't have to be faced with decisions like this. If you're willing to trust me, I can take care of things. But only if you want. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do."

A part of Blue screamed, _Don't trust him, you can't trust a stranger, you can't trust __anybody__, he'll hurt you...! _ But another part of him, a quiet, secret part that he had been learning to hide, said, _He's been nice to you, he hasn't done anything scary, he wants to help. You're lost, you're hurt, you __need__ help. You can't just stay here. Minion wouldn't want you to stay anywhere that isn't safe._

For what felt like a very long time, the little alien sat there, looking off into the falling snow, at a loss. His eyes shifted toward the spot where he'd thought Minion had smashed into the pavement, but it was lost now under a much thicker blanket of snow. His gaze slipped back to his hands, and saw the peppermint stick still clutched in one small fist.

It brought to mind a day earlier in the week, when one of the kids, Jason, had brought a big box of candy canes to school. Ms Driscoll had thought it a wonderful treat, and Jason had gone around the room, passing them out to the other students, one by one. Blue had been able to smell the peppermint the moment the box was opened, and he had waited in quiet excitement for his turn to come. But it never did. When all the others had their candy, Jason took one look at Blue, said there wasn't any more, and returned to his seat. But he had lied; the box was still half full, and during recess, he'd shared the remaining treats with his friends. Blue wasn't his friend, that much had been made clear, and Ms Driscoll hadn't thought anything of Jason's cruel rudeness.

And yet, this worn old stranger had given him a whole peppermint stick for his very own, had offered him a place to get warm and dry, and food to eat. He had offered to help his hurts get better, had offered his protection. It was just a piece of candy, but in that moment, Blue suddenly felt as if he was holding a great treasure in his hand.

He looked up at Nick, who was patiently waiting. He tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it. Softly, however, he said, "Okay. I'll come with you."

There was no mistaking the man's concerned relief. He'd actually been worried about leaving the boy alone in the cold, and Blue knew he'd made the right decision. People who hurt him never showed concern or relief for anything or anyone but themselves. "That's fine, son, just fine. C'mon, then, let's get going."

Nick stood up and helped Blue to his feet. When he put his weight on his injured ankle, it hurt; he staggered slightly, and Nick caught him. "Maybe carrying you piggyback isn't the best idea," he reflected, not wanting to risk causing the slight boy any additional pain. "No problem, though. You're small enough and light enough for me to handle the old-fashioned way."

He lifted Blue into his arms, one under the thin legs and the other around the narrow shoulders. "Think you can put one arm around my neck? It'll make this a little easier." Blue nodded and did so, keeping the peppermint stick in his free hand. "That's good," Nick approved, adjusting his scarf that so the thin arm around his neck was covered. "Don't want you getting any colder," he explained with a smile, then started off.

After they had gone about a block or so from the dead end street, Blue decided this wasn't a bad way to travel, especially under the circumstances. Nick was warm, which was welcome to him, and he smelled of cinnamon and mint. Blue liked both smells, which was a pleasant change after the stinks from the alley and the trucks and the Office. As Nick fell into an even stride, Blue went back to sucking on his candy, allowing its sweet taste and the nice smells and the much needed warmth to take away some of the aching tension that had made his whole body taut as a bowstring. The sugar eased the rumbling hunger in his belly, and the rhythm of their movement soon relaxed him. He leaned his head against the softness of Nick's thick scarf, closed his eyes, and, still sucking contentedly on his candy, he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

He woke abruptly at the sound of a heavy metallic _clang! _Startled and disoriented, Blue tensed and began to panic, until he heard a kind chuckle near his ear. "Sorry, little Blue, didn't mean to wake you like that," Nick apologized. "I didn't want to put you down, and this door's a mite hard to open with just my foot."

Blue looked all around, and saw what had made the noise. Nick had brought him to an empty alley at the back of a big building with a large and weather-faded _WAREHOUSE FOR SALE OR LEASE _sign over a long line of large closed doors that were several feet above the pavement. There were a number of dumpsters along a blank brick wall opposite the doors, but their lack of smell told Blue that they had been empty for a long time. The noise had been made when Nick had opened a heavy metal door at the top of a small set of stairs, the entrance to what a sign above the entrance said was the Receiving Office for the warehouse.

"Here we go," Nick said cheerfully as he stepped inside. "It isn't much, but I call it home, for now."

From what Blue could see in the light that entered from the open door and a single grimy window, it _wasn't _much. The room was rather small, and boasted a few pieces of old office furniture: a desk half-covered with a jumble of boxes and bags, three battered old office chairs, a couple of rusty filing cabinets, as well as a small space heater and a hot plate atop a very small table. Old clothes were hung on a row of hooks along one wall, and a narrow folding cot was shoved into one corner. Opposite the entrance were two more half-open doors, one of which was a washroom, the other some kind of storage closet, filled with a variety of old crates and boxes.

"You live here?" Blue asked, wondering why anyone would live in the office of an empty warehouse.

Nick laughed softly as he settled the boy in the largest of the chairs, which was surprisingly comfortable. "I know, it's not much to look at. But I haven't had any work for a few years now, and when the people who own the warehouse said I could stay here if I kept an eye on the place to make sure the hoods don't start using it for a hangout, I thought it was a good deal. Better than the streets, and the mission's not far away. It's warm here, I've got a roof over my head, a place to wash up, food when I need it — can't ask for much more, sometimes. Enough about me. Let's get you taken care of."

Half an hour later, Blue's wet clothes and shoes were spread out to dry near the space heater, his injuries all cleaned and bandaged. Nick had bundled him into a long, soft shirt, overlarge socks, and several slightly tattered blankets — stuff the mission had been getting rid of, he explained. Blue wasn't sure what he meant by a mission, but it didn't matter. The blankets were warm, as was the canned tomato soup Nick had heated up on the hot plate while he tended to the boy's scrapes and bumps and sore ankle. While Blue ate the soup and crackers he'd been offered, Nick stepped out for a few minutes, "To leave word with friends," he explained so that Blue wouldn't worry that he was being abandoned.

When he was gone, Blue glanced around the room as best he could, for the outside light was failing with the day, and there was no lamp inside. He wasn't in the mood to look any more closely, and was content to remain bundled up in his chair, feeling the warmth of the soup and the blankets and the small heater finally thawing his bones. He thought that Nick might be one of the homeless people he sometimes heard mentioned on television; if he was, he seemed to have it better than most. He plainly didn't have a lot, but he shared it willingly, and Blue thought that was very kind of him. By now, he was certain Nick wasn't the mythical Mr. Claus, but at the moment, he didn't think anyone could have been nicer. He wished Minion had been with him to share this little adventure, but Nick's unexpected concern and generosity helped eased the sting in his heart, just a little. If Minion couldn't be there, it was nice to know that _somebody _cared.

Nick returned in a little over ten minutes, covered with snow and carrying a couple of plastic sacks. "Good thing we got here when we did," he told Blue as he set down the bags, brushed off the snow, then took off his coat and draped it over the back of an empty chair. Removing it revealed a worn but bright red sweater and a pair of dark green suspenders. "Wind's picked up and blowing right off the lake, so we've got a heap of snow coming in."

With the coat set down to dry, he went to the file cabinets, pulled open a drawer, and brought out several candles in jars, which he lit then set about the room, giving the place a warm, soft glow. "My last light bulb blew a few weeks back," he explained as he worked. "Haven't been able to get a new one yet, but these'll do, and I can get more from a priest I know, any time I need 'em. Power can be iffy here, sometimes, so they come in handy. I stopped by the mission and told my friends there that I've got little boy blue over to visit, so if they hear of anyone looking for you, they'll know where you are. And don't worry that they'll tell the wrong people, they know how to tell friend from foe. The mission ladies wanted to make sure you're taken care of proper, so they sent a few extra things." From the sacks, Nick produced various containers of food, several pieces of fruit, and some warm chocolate chip cookies (which Blue had smelled as soon as he'd opened the door), along with a few pairs of dry socks, a pair of black children's sweat pants, and a pair of bright blue mittens and a matching cap.

"They get a lot of donations, this time of year, especially for kids, so they were happy to share," Nick explained as he helped Blue wiggle into the pants and socks without unwrapping his blankets.

Like most clothes, they were a little loose on the alien, but the drawstring waist held them up quite comfortably. He offered Blue a cookie and an apple, which he took with a soft, "Thank you." He looked from one to the other, knowing that he should eat the apple first, but enticed by the delicious sweet smell of the warm cookie.

Seeing his quandary, Nick grinned. "It's Christmas Eve, son, and I don't know about you, but I think all cookies taste best when they're still warm from the oven, especially chocolate chip."

Blue realized that he was being given permission to eat his dessert first. Astonished but pleased, he finally managed a small smile as he startled nibbling, then devouring, the treat.

Nick stepped into the washroom for a moment to clean his hands; he closed its door and that of the storage closet when he was done, to keep the heat where his young guest needed it. He then settled down at the desk and started sorting through the food containers. "So, Blue, where do you come from? I'm not asking where you ran away from," he explained when the boy froze. "You left, and you've got your reasons. But I think we both know you're not an Earth boy." His glance took in not only the child's blue skin, but his large bald head, which had been revealed when his soggy cap had been removed, as well as his huge, unearthly green eyes.

Having finished his cookie, Blue nibbled delicately at the apple, which Nick had sliced for him. "I don't know," he admitted sadly. "My mom and dad sent me here when I was just a baby, 'cause there was this huge vortex thing that was gonna suck up our entire planet. They sent me and Minion here to save us. But that's all I know. Even Minion doesn't remember exactly who my parents were, or what our planet was called or where it was. It was a long way away, and it's gone now."

"That's sad," Nick said sincerely. "I was young when I lost my parents, but not a baby. It sounds like you came from pretty far away, then."

Blue nodded. _ "Real_ far. My escape pod had a special kind of hyperdrive, so when it reached a certain optimal velocity, it was propelled through n-dimensional space, which let it cover a huge distance in almost no time at all, so it came out at preselected coordinates somewhere around the orbit of Jupiter, and then—"

"Whoa, hold on there, Blue!" Nick said with a jovial laugh, startled by the boy's sudden shift from normal kid talk to sophisticated science speak. "I was a history teacher in my time, not a scientist! You lost me back around 'velocity.' But it sounds to me like you've got a pretty astronomical IQ."

The boy blushed, uncertain. "Is that a good thing?"

"Could be, if you learn how to use it right. It means you're very, _very_ smart. When I was a teacher, I always enjoyed the bright kids. It was hard work to keep 'em interested, but it made for a good challenge."

Blue made a face that eloquently expressed his feelings about Ms Driscoll. "My teacher hates me," he said, thinking back on the day and all the miserable weeks since he'd started school. "She likes the kids who always do everything just the way she says, she thinks I'm nothing but trouble just 'cause I make mistakes sometimes and the other kids don't like me. She thinks I'm a freak, and she wants to get rid of me."

Nick's snort was equally eloquent. "She's not much of a teacher, then, if all she wants are kids who're mindless drones. Smart kids are different, sure, but it's a good kind of different, and if she can't deal with it, she's just plain lazy."

That was what Blue thought, too, what the warden and Officer Davis and some of his "uncles" had told him time and again, but it was nice to hear it from someone who had been a teacher. His mind picked up the phrase "mindless drones" and toyed with it a bit. He liked it. It described the rest of his classmates very well. He would have to tell Minion—

That thought brought him up short, like a speeding train crashing into a mountain. Minion wasn't here to tell, and if he was still alive, the heavily falling snow and the cold would be a serious problem for him. He was resourceful for a fish, but there was only so much he could do to move in deep drifts, even less if the water in his globe began to freeze...

The very notion wrenched a sob from Blue's chest. Hearing it, Nick looked up and felt his own chest constrict at the heartbreak so plain on the child's face. He didn't know what had been going through Blue's thoughts, and reached his own conclusion. "I suppose you've had a pretty rough time of it in school," he surmised. "It's bad enough when the other kids don't like you, but it's worse when the teacher takes their side and lets them bully you. I'm sorry you've had to live through that, son. I can only imagine what it must be like, looking so obviously different and being the only one."

He paused, thinking back on their conversation. "Or _are_ you? Didn't you say your friend came with you?"

It took some effort for Blue to nod. "He did, but he's...not like me."

"Not blue?"

"No — well, I guess some of him is sorta blue, but that's not what I meant. He's — he's a fish." Blue couldn't look at Nick while he made that admission, since he was sure the man would think that he was crazy, like everyone at school did.

But after a second of silence, all Nick said was, "A fish?" When Blue nodded, he thought a moment more, then continued. "A fish man, like a person who walks on two feet, or a fish fish, like one that swims in the water?"

"A fish fish," Blue said, figuring he had nothing to lose by telling the whole truth, now that a part of it was out. "My parents sent him with me to take care of me. Minion's a real smart fish, and the ball my parents sent him in lets him move around on his own. Not a lot, 'cause he can only make it roll and bounce a little, sometimes, but someday, I'm gonna make him a robot body so he can walk like everyone else."

"I bet you will," Nick said confidently, without any hint of doubt or condemnation. His easy acceptance of all the boy had said made Blue look up, and see the odd smile on the man's bearded face. "Y'know, little Blue, now I _know_ everything will be all right."

He patted Blue's good knee as he stood up and headed for the washroom. "I was out doing my usual rounds today," he explained as he went. "I like to sort of play Santa for the homeless families with kids that I know of in this part of town. After I lost my teaching position, I was a delivery trucker for a while, so I know a lot of folks in the warehouses and supply outlets. Some of 'em like what I do for the homeless kids, and give me treats and things to hand out to them when I find 'em. That import grocery supply house off Canal Street — where I found you — gives me some of the best stuff. When I went there this morning to pick up whatever they had for me, I found something else. Surprised the bejeebers outta me, made me drop a jar of something I'd just gotten, so I brought it along instead. Didn't know what to do with it but bring it back here, but now, I think I know _exactly _what to do."

In the dim glow of the candles, Blue couldn't see what Nick was doing until he returned to the main room with something shiny and round in his hands, reflecting strange shadows in the flickering candlelight. The thing appeared to be damaged, as there was a band of duct tape curved along the uppermost side. It looked familiar, but Blue was afraid to hope—

"Sir! Oh, sir, it's you! You're all right! Oh, sir, I'm so glad to see you...!"

The even more familiar voice evaporated any doubts. _"Minion!"_ Blue shrieked, his entire face splitting in the biggest and most delighted grin ever. Minion looked a bit pale and rattled and worn, but no more than Blue himself after the unexpected events of the day. Nick — after getting over his surprise at hearing the fish speak — held out the globe to the boy. Blue took it at once, wrapping his arms around it and hugging it and his best friend to his slender chest as he burst into new tears of unabashed relief and joy.

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

For the next twenty minutes, Nick sat by in mild but pleased bemusement, watching the singularly unexpected marvel of a boy and his fish catching up on all that had happened to them since they had been separated that morning. Minion listened to Blue's story first, occasionally punctuating the telling with positive reinforcement for his master's moments of resourcefulness, as well as cries of dismay over how his friend had been hurt, the horrible things he'd encountered, and the pain he had felt, thinking Minion had been lost to him forever. The fish agreed with Blue's opinion that Jenny Osgood was as perfectly horrible as Ms Driscoll, and that Wayne Scott was a terrible, selfish, stuck-up brat for refusing to help when it would have been so easy for him. In the end, however, he was too relieved to see his master again to hold onto his anger for long.

"I have to admit, I was really shocked when that bratty Jenny actually _threw_ me off the bus!" Minion said when Blue had finally run out of things to tell and was happy to sit and take his turn listening, cradling his friend's habitat in his lap. "I thought I was going to land in the middle of the road and be crushed under all that traffic! Falling off the bridge wasn't very pleasant, either, but it was better than being run over!"

"Did the concussion dispersal work the way it should?" Blue asked as he peeled back the duct tape to inspect the damage. "I know that's what keeps you and your ball from getting hurt when it crashes into things, but I don't know how much it can take, or how long it'll last..."

Minion was as reassuring as he knew how to be. "It worked well enough, sir, though I have to say, I was pretty shaken up by the experience. I was kinda out of it for a while, and I only came around when I heard a truck about to run me over. I rolled out of its way, but the seal on my sphere had cracked, and whenever I rolled, I lost more and more water. I had to stop moving around before I could reach the side of the road, to keep the leaking seam at the top of the sphere. I was still pretty shocky — and scared, too, since the trucks kept moving around me, and a bunch of them came _that close _to hitting me! I was sure I was a goner when I heard glass smashing, and then Mr. Nick here came and picked me up. I didn't really want to go with him, since I was sure you'd come looking for me, but I was so out of it, I couldn't think straight, and I wasn't about to start talking in front of strangers! It was just as well, though, since from what you've said, I could've frozen by the time you were able to get there, sir. I was already awfully cold when Mr. Nick brought me back here to get warm."

Blue was contrite. "I'm sorry I couldn't get there any sooner, Minion..."

The fish answered with an understanding smile. "I know, sir, and I know it wasn't your fault. I'm just glad you weren't hurt too badly, and that Mr. Nick was able to help both of us."

"It was my pleasure, boys," the man assured them as he gave a stir to the pot of stew from the mission that he was reheating on the hotplate. "I knew that you were a special fish when I first saw you, Minion — never seen anything quite like you before, and I had a feeling someone would come looking for you. But that was a mighty dangerous place for anything in a glass ball — though I didn't know you could move yourself around, you were standing stock still when I nearly tripped over you. Who would've ever expected to find a lost fish bowl in the middle of the street? But I knew you couldn't stay there; all the exotic fishes I've ever seen didn't take too well to the cold."

Minion shivered. "I can't say I care for it, sir, though I'm usually okay with it for a little while. I think you did the right thing, for both of us, and I'm sorry I didn't thank you sooner."

Nick smiled. "That's okay, I understand why you didn't. I might've been a mite disturbed by a talking fish, that's a fact — though right now, it doesn't seem strange at all." He turned his smile to Blue, who responded with one of his own.

"I should've thanked you sooner, too, Mr. Nick," he apologized. "You've been very nice to me, and to Minion. Most people take one look at me and... well, I guess I don't look like anyone they want for a friend."

The man snorted. "Then they're not looking at the right things. One thing you learn living out on the streets, son, is that you can't be too particular about things that don't really matter when it comes to choosing your friends. What a person looks like on the outside isn't anywhere near as important as what he's like on the inside."

"You're very wise, sir," Minion approved. "And very openminded. It's too bad we haven't met more people like you."

"I'm sorry you haven't, either," Nick agreed, deciding that the stew was ready and ladling some of it into the chipped mug from which Blue had eaten his soup. "Both of you seem to me like perfectly nice, polite young fellows. Have you found what's broken there, son?" he asked Blue, who had finished carefully peeling away the duct tape to inspect Minion's sphere.

The boy had been carefully studying things, and now he nodded, relieved. "It's not really broken. I think when it fell off the bridge and hit the ground, the seam for the opening popped — here, see?"

Nick leaned over a bit to have a better look. He whistled softly. "To tell the truth, it looks like an ordinary crack to me. How does it— oh!" Blue had placed his palm against the surface around the "crack"; he turned his hand gently, and when he lifted it, a part of the globe slightly larger than the boy's palm came with it. The opening was large enough for Minion to pass through it without harm, but no more.

Blue's fingers examined the edges of both the plug and the opening. He then sighed, smiling. "It's okay, it was just knocked out of place a little, enough to leak. Do you have some fresh water I can use to refill it, Mr. Nick? Not too cold," he added.

The man nodded as he got up and headed into the washroom. He turned on one of the taps and let it run for a bit while he explained. "The water from the pipes here never gets really hot, but the people who own this place want to sell it, and they won't get a very good price if the pipes freeze and break. They left a water heater on somewhere, set mighty low, but it's enough. How warm do you like it, Minion?"

"Oh, not _too_ warm, Mr. Nick," the fish replied, happy to have been consulted. "I don't want to be cooked!"

Hearing Nick's question, Blue tucked the plug into one pocket, shrugged off the blankets, and padded over to the washroom, carrying Minion's open globe. Carefully balancing the sphere on the sink's edge, he used one hand to hold it safely in place while he reached out on tiptoe to put his other hand under the running water. He smiled up at Nick. "I change Minion's water and clean his globe 'most every day," he explained. After several moments more, he said, "That's warm enough. Do you have a cup or a pitcher?"

From a shelf above the toilet, Nick brought down a large tin cup. Without needing to be asked, he washed and rinsed it thoroughly, then filled it and offered it to Blue. The boy took it with the most solemn of expressions, carefully pouring water into the ball until it quivered at the very edge of spilling over. He then took the bowl's plug, rinsed it under the water, deftly slid it into its proper place and closed it. Now sealed, the globe appeared perfectly seamless.

"That's mighty fine workmanship," Nick said, unable to see where the bowl and its closure met. "Can't see a thing there, now. Can you?"

Blue shrugged. "Most of the time. If I can't, I can feel where it opens with my fingers." He demonstrated for Nick, who tried to feel the edge.

He shook his head in wonder. "You've got more sensitive fingers than I do, son. It's just solid glass to me."

This time, Blue's smile was impish. "That's what all the— what everyone at home says. They think it's some kind of trick, but they never can find the opening, and I _always _can." He returned to his chair, cradling Minion in his lap once Nick had the blankets wrapped around him.

The man handed Blue his cup of stew and was about to settle down to eat his portion out of the pot when he remembered that he now had another guest. "I'm sorry, Minion," he said apologetically. "I didn't ask if you were hungry — though I'm not sure what have that I can offer you..."

Minion was quite gracious. "Oh, you needn't go through any trouble, sir, I'm fine. I wasn't sure when we'd be going home, so I had a _very_ big breakfast this morning, and if I do get hungry, I can eat almost anything you can." Though his smile was cheerful and friendly, it was also quite toothy, which Nick couldn't miss.

He chuckled. "I suppose you could. I thought you must be some kind of piranha, at first, until you started talking."

"Most people do," Minion said with a sigh. "It's only an unfortunate resemblance. Those barbarians are strictly carnivorous. I prefer a more eclectic diet."

Nick chuckled heartily, amused not only by Minion's excellent manners, but also by his remarkable vocabulary. "Just let me know if there's anything you'd like, then. If I don't have it, I have lots of good friends to ask."

"Thank you, Mr. Nick. For now, it's more than enough to be out of the cold and back with Sir." Blue, his mouth filled with a spoonful of stew, patted his friend's sphere in his own happy contentment.

When they had finished their meal, Nick's washed down with a cup of coffee and Blue's with a small carton of milk, both from the mission, Nick took the dirtied dishes back to washroom to clean up. While he was working, cheerfully humming a holiday tune, Minion looked up at his master.

"Sir," he asked as softly as he could, "are we going to go back, or have you decided to run away, after all?"

Blue glanced at their benefactor, who gave no indication that he was listening. He sighed, little more loudly than a breath. "I don't know. I don't think it would be right to ask Mr. Nick to take care of us forever. He doesn't have much, and he's been awfully good to us already. I wouldn't miss anyone from _shool, _but... well, I think there are some people at the... you-know-where that I would miss. I still didn't get a chance to write a thank you letter to Mrs. Davis, like I promised. And... I guess I would miss some of my uncles, too, but..." His voice trailed off, his insides jumbled with conflicting feelings.

Minion understood. "You don't have to decide right now, sir. Say, maybe this is your chance to be away on Christmas Eve, and find out if what the kids told you about The List is true!"

"The List?" Nick said idly as he came back into the room. He looked up abruptly, his expression filled with remorse. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Your business is your own, like I promised." He busied himself with putting away the dishes, clearly embarrassed.

Blue watched him for a few moments, then turned to Minion. Seeing no answer in his friend's face, he looked back at Nick, and made a decision. "It's something the other kids have been telling me," he explained. "Mr. Claus only visits kids who've been good, and anybody who's been bad gets put on the Naughty List. I..." He hesitated; then, taking a deep breath, he blurted out the rest. "Everything I do in class is wrong, I'm always causing trouble no matter how hard I try to be good, and I live in a prison. Everybody who lives in a prison is bad or they wouldn't be there, so I must've been born bad, and I'll never get off the List."

Nick listened without interrupting; when Blue was finished, his head hanging in shame and bitterness, the man sat down again, his own expression both appalled and compassionate. "Is this what they told you, or what you _thought _they said?"

The silence hung heavy for a minute before Blue answered. "It's what they said, the other kids an' my teacher. I _do _live in a prison, I have since my pod landed there when I was a baby. I told 'em that, that it was accident that I landed there, but they said it didn't matter. It must've been meant to happen, and everyone in a prison is on the List, forever."

Nick's snort was dismissive, but not of Blue. "That's just plain ridiculous. The people who usually live in prisons did bad things — _very_ bad things — on purpose. I don't see why anyone would raise a baby there, no matter where he came from or what he looks like."

Blue was very quiet for a moment or two, thinking. "I don't exactly know for sure, but... Would I be tattling if I told you what I heard other people saying?"

"That depends. If you tell a secret that you promised to keep, that's not tattling, but it _is_ breaking a promise. But if you tell something just to get another person in trouble, then it might be. Is that what this is?"

Blue considered things, then shook his head. "I heard this by accident. I was still really small, and I kinda got in trouble 'cause I went somewhere in the prison I wasn't supposed to go. I got hurt a little, and while I was sitting in the infirmary, I heard the doctor and the warden talking outside the door. The doctor didn't think I belonged there, and the warden said I didn't, but he couldn't find anyone who wanted me, not for the right reasons. I don't know what he meant by that, but he said I had to stay there, for my own good. But I never did anything _really _bad, honest! I just... never fit in, anywhere."

He frowned so fiercely, Nick was taken aback by it. "I wish I was like all the other kids! I wanna have hair, an' skin that isn't blue, an' a head that isn't so big and ugly...!" There was such intense self-hatred in his words, even Minion was shocked.

"Oh, sir...!" was all the fish could say, horrified.

Nick, however, was not rendered speechless, though he was no less distressed. He leaned forward in his chair, his voice firm but kind. "Now, hold on there, Blue, let's just stop and think about this for a minute. Why do you want to be just like all the other kids?"

The boy's lips trembled, but the ferocity of his expression did not waver. "B-because I'm a freak! I'm not like anybody else, an' everyone hates me 'cause I'm not! Nobody wants me, nobody cares if I live or die...!" The vehemence of his emotions choked his voice to silence, but could not quell the hurt and anger in his shimmering eyes.

"That's not true," Nick said softly, something in his voice startling Blue. "Your friend Minion cares, and I care. I even think that the doctor and the warden cared. It's true that you're different, Blue. You're one of a kind, just like your little friend, there. But the only people who think different is bad are people who are mean and selfish and just plain blind to what's good in others. You're blue, and you came from another planet, but that doesn't make you a freak; it makes you special, special in a way nobody else can be, special in a way that nobody can take away from you, no matter how hard they try. That's what they're doing every time they call you names and put you down. They're trying to rob you of the greatest gift you've got by making you think it's bad or wrong or ugly. You're blue, you're a nice kid, you're cute, you're very smart, and all that is part of what makes you _you. _Maybe you wound up where you are by accident, and maybe it's going to be hard for you to find your place in this world. But you're not naughty just because other people say you are, and you won't ever find your proper place if you give up. Just look at yourself! Blue is the color of a sunny sky, it's the color of lakes and rivers and the whole wide ocean. As a matter of fact, if you look at Earth from out in space, the whole planet is blue — and here you are, the only blue person in it! If you think about it, in a way, you're more a part of this world than anyone else. You should be proud of yourself for the unique and beautiful person you are, Blue. Don't let other people who can't see beyond their own noses tell you there's something wrong with you. They're fools, and you know better."

For what felt like a very long time, Blue sat there, trying to take in all that Nick had said. It was a lot for anyone to think about, especially a child, but Blue _was _smart, and he could tell that this was important, even if he didn't quite understand everything Nick had told him.

He finally stirred when Minion moved his sphere enough to gently nudge his arm. "He's right, sir. I don't think Dr. Schneider and Warden Thurmer ever meant to say that _they_ didn't want you or like you; they're just trying to do what's best for you, like I do. You _are _special, just as special as Wayne Scott — _more _special, if you ask me. If you were just like everyone else, why, you wouldn't be you!"

The emphatic words of both his companions touched Blue in ways he didn't understand at all — but it felt good, warm and strangely tingly, a little like the way it felt when he got an idea for a new invention or something he could make in the machine shop that would be interesting or useful or just plain cool. He kept all that had been said tucked away in his thoughts for later consideration. Events of the next year would, sadly, lead him to some mistaken conclusions and interpretations about himself. Like Wayne, it would be another thirty years before he grasped the full and proper truth of it, but in time, he _would _understand everything that Nick and Minion had been trying to tell him.

He blinked the remnants of unshed tears from his bright green eyes, then smiled, first at Minion, then at Nick. "I guess you're both right," he admitted. "It's kinda silly, wishing to be something I'm not. Blue _is _a nice color, a lot nicer'n that sick blotchy red Jenny Osgood turns when she gets all mad an' snotty. And I'd rather be smart and blue than pink and stupid like Wayne." He rubbed the top of his bald head. "Though I still kinda wish I had at least _some _hair."

Nick laughed, a hearty, friendly sound. "Trust me, little Blue, it can be more trouble than it's worth." He fluffed out his mop of shaggy white hair with both hands, turning into a wild-looking mane, then made a show of attempting to tame it again with his fingers, without success. He was being deliberately outrageous, and grinned when his antics made the boy laugh. "So," he said, pulling out an old comb to do a more thorough job of putting things back in order, "what do you want for Christmas, Blue?"

The boy blinked in surprise. "I—I don't know," he said honestly. "Nobody ever asked me that before."

"Never?"

"Never. I guess that's 'cause what the other kids say _is_ true, you get presents from either Mr. Claus or your parents. My parents are gone, and Mr. Claus doesn't visit kids in prisons."

The face Nick made was oddly skeptical. "I suppose that's not his usual style, but like I said, you never can tell. Things change. And it never hurts to dream, Blue. Even if you can't always get what you want, dreaming can give you something to shoot for, someday."

"That's a nice idea," Minion opined in his own dreamy fashion. "I don't know what I'd wish for, myself, but I never really thought about whether or not I _could. _Do you suppose Mr. Claus would give a present to a fish?"

Nick grinned. "Don't see why not, though I imagine he's probably given more fish as pets — not intelligent talking ones, of course."

Minion rolled his eyes. "Oh, I know about those kind. Sir's school had some pet goldfish, until one of the little monsters flushed them down the toilet." He shuddered at the remembered horror. "Savages!"

Nick heartily agreed. "For myself, I think I'd like a steady job again, maybe teaching, though I'm probably getting a little too old for that. A new pair of boots that don't leak would be good, too." His dark eyes shifted back to the quiet boy. "What about you, Blue? Have you thought of anything you'd like?"

Blue remained thoughtful for a minute longer, then nodded. "I'd like another name. Blue's okay, like Brown and Black and Green, but everyone else has _two, _one they got from their family, and one they got from their parents. I guess everyone at the prison is kinda my family, so Blue is my family name, but..." A pang of wistfulness crossed the little face. "I don't know what name my parents gave me. I don't even know if they did."

Minion was swift to contradict. "They did, sir, I know they did, it's just my fault that I can't remember what it is. They were so busy getting things ready to save you, getting _me _ready to go with you. I know I heard them say your name, but I don't have a brain or a memory like yours. I just can't remember it." If his sphere could have deflated, it would have, so great was his disappointment in letting down his beloved young master.

Both Blue and Nick patted the fish's globe in consolation. "That's okay, Minion," Nick said, echoing Blue. "In the big picture, that's not as important as being there for Blue and helping take care of him." His hand shifted to pat the boy's good knee. "And there are plenty of people who got names from their parents that were perfectly awful, so they wound up picking another name for themselves. It's not that unusual, really."

When Blue favored him with an unmistakable look of pure disbelief, he laughed. "No joke," he promised. "My parents named me after my father, who was named after his father. Mortimer. I tried to get them to call me Morty or just about anything else, but when they wouldn't, I decided to start using my middle name, Nicholas, or Nick. It was less confusing, since both my dad and granddad used Mortimer and Morty, and it was a lot easier to live with when I started school. And when I was a teacher, there were plenty of kids who picked names for themselves that weren't what their parents had given them. There's no reason you can't do the same thing."

Blue considered this. "I suppose," he said after a while. "But even if it's sucky, I'd still like to know what my mom and dad called me."

Minion nuzzled at the hand resting on his ball. "I know, sir, and I'm trying as hard as I can to remember. Maybe when both of us are a little older, I will."

"That's the spirit," Nick approved. "Never give up, especially when you've got nothing to lose to keep trying. You're both still young—" He paused, thinking. "Just how old _are_ you two?" he wondered. "You don't look to be more than seven..."

"We're not exactly sure," Minion provided. "Sir was eight days old when our pod was launched, and I was about a year older, I think. The drive in the pod got us away from the vortex in only a few hours, but I think it took another two weeks for it navigate the local asteroid belt and brake for entry into the right destination on Earth."

Blue sniffed, a stubborn teacher trying to instruct an equally stubborn student. "It was _exactly _two weeks, Minion, I keep telling you. That's what the conversion to Earth time would be."

Minion knew this was a debate he couldn't win. "If you say so, sir. Our pod was knocked off course at the last second, Mr. Nick—"

"On _purpose,"_ Blue added grimly.

"—which is how we finally landed in the exercise yard of the Metro City prison. It was an awfully rough landing, the pod took a few hard bounces before we stopped. That was six years ago tomorrow."

Nick's face brightened. "So you just turned six, Blue? Well happy birthday, even if it's a mite late! And you arrived here on Earth on Christmas Day? Don't that beat all! Y'know, I had a bunch of temp jobs back then, was working here in the warehouse district, driving trucks, loading 'em up, doing turns as a security guard. That's how I got the owners of this place to let me hole up here when I didn't have anywhere else to go, they knew I'd done that kind of work before. As a matter of fact, I think I was doing a guard shift for one of the other shippers on Christmas Day six years back..."

His voice trailed off as his whole face turned thoughtful, trying to recall something important that was tickling at the back of his mind. He reached out and touched Minion's globe again, studying the feeling of its glassy surface under his fingers. He thought some more, then abruptly stood up as things snapped into focus.

With a smile, he moved over to the filing cabinets while he rummaged about his pockets, eventually producing a small key. "You know, some folks say there's no such thing as coincidence in this world, and after everything that's happened today, I'm sure beginning to think they're right." He glanced back at his curious guests as he fitted the key to the lock on a specific drawer. "Even old hobos like me have a few things they consider their treasures and don't want to risk losing," he explained.

When the drawer was open, he carefully began searching its contents. "Like I said, six years ago, I had a temp job as a security guard for one of the companies hereabouts, filling in for the regulars on Christmas Day to give 'em time with their families since mine's all long gone. Early in the day, I was making the rounds inside the building near the loading gates when I heard this huge crash just outside. At first, I thought it was a truck slamming into the docks because its brakes failed — the weather wasn't so nasty that day; it was actually kinda nice for December. Anyway, I knew there weren't any trucks moving in the delivery yard that day, and the whole thing just didn't sound or feel right. I hustled outside, but by the time I got there, all I could see was this big dent in the pavement, like somebody had bounced a wrecking ball off it. There was nothing there but some chunks of broken concrete and bits and pieces of what mostly looked like junk from an old car crash. Later that day, I heard on the news that there had been meteorites spotted in the area that morning, bright enough to see in the daylight, and some of the reports said that one of 'em looked like a skipping rock before it finally stopped or burned up. I thought the whole thing was a little bit crazy sounding, but the skipping rock idea was the only one that could explain what I'd heard and seen. To this day, I thought it really _was _nothing but a meteor, but after hearing what you just told me, I think now that what I'd heard was your pod, bouncing across the city."

He returned to his seat, scootching it a little closer to the boy and his fish. "I never told anybody, but there was something I found there that day that I always thought was just a piece of junk that got melted by the heat of the 'meteor.' I kept it as a souvenir, but now that I've heard your story and seen your ball, Minion, I think this really belongs to the two of you."

He held out one hand that he'd been keeping in a pocket and opened his fingers. On his palm sat a small, perfect sphere of what looked to be the same stuff as Minion's globe. It was clear and had no occupant, and it was difficult to tell if it was solid or hollow. "I have no idea what it is," Nick admitted. "It's always reminded me of a snow globe, but without any snow. It's not much, but whatever it is, it might be something from your planet. You should have it, not me."

As Nick held it out so they could inspect it more closely, Minion floated to the top of his globe for a better look in the flickering candlelight. "It _does _look like the same kind of material, sir," he said to Blue. "I don't know what it might've been for, but if it has the same kind of concussion resistance as my habitat, it could've been a piece of the pod's exterior that broke off in that landing. Maybe it was part of a crash protection system."

"Maybe," Blue agreed, his mind going at hyperspeed as he considered what purpose the thing might serve. "It could've just been for decoration, too, or maybe it was something like a reflector. It does look pretty shiny, even with only a little light."

Nick nodded. "That's part of why I kept it. I thought it was pretty, and I didn't figure anyone else would have a use for it." He took one of Blue's hands, turned it, and placed the thing on his palm, where it nestled quite comfortably, as if it had been made to fit just him. "It might be the last thing anyone will find from your planet, Blue, so by rights, it's yours, now."

Blue smiled softly and was about to say thank you when something happened to steal his breath away. The moment Nick let go of it and the ball was being touched by Blue alone, it started to glow. Its interior glittered and sparkled like fine snow in a whirlwind, giving off a gentle blue-green light that was beautiful to see.

"Well, I'll be!" Nick breathed in wonder, awed by the lovely sight as the colors shifted. "Here I've had it for six years, and I never knew it could do _that!"_

Minion was equally entranced. "It's beautiful!" he declared, captivated by the unexpected light show. "I think you're right, Mr. Nick, this _is _from the pod! It reminds me of the ribbons of color that sometimes appeared in the night sky over the pond where I was born."

But Blue scarcely heard his friend, so entranced was he by what he held in his hand. As he gazed into the depths of the glow at the heart of the small sphere, totally enchanted by the whirling lights and dancing colors, they shifted in ways that seemed strangely familiar. His big green eyes got wider and wider, brighter and brighter, until he suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, Minion, look, look, _look!_ It's my mom and dad!"

_TBC..._


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Your parents?" Minion exclaimed excitedly, looking all about as he tried to see what Blue was talking about. "Where, sir? _How?_ I don't see anything but the lights...!"

"Right there!" Blue said, pointing to the glowing sphere.

Minion squinted into the light for all he was worth, but still saw nothing. "I can't see anything!" he lamented, roling about in distress. "Oh, curse my fishy eyes!"

Blue rolled his own eyes in exasperation at the melodramatic display. "Oh, here," he suggested, tilting his hand and moving the glowing ball closer to Minion's globe. "Maybe you just can't see right through all that water."

Minion was willing to go with that possibility, and pressed his face right up against the glass of his habitat as his young master held the little ball against it. He made a blatty sound of pure frustration. "Still nothing!" he wailed. He desperately wanted to see what the boy had described. "Oh, sir, I'm letting you down again...!"

Blue was getting a bit frantic with the desire for him to see it, too, because he was beginning to fear that this was all a figment of his imagination. He looked up at Nick to see his reactions.

The man had also leaned toward the little shining ball, as he was powerfully curious to see the people who had sent Blue to Earth. Sadly, he was shaking his head. "Sorry, son," he said with a sigh. "I don't see anything but the lights, either."

Blue's mind whirled, analyzing the problem as fast as he could. Quickly, as he stared at the traitorous thing lying in his hand, the most obvious possibility came to him. "Maybe you need to touch it to see it," he postulated. He held it up for Nick to take.

But again, the old man shook his head. "I'm pretty sure it won't work for me. It didn't do diddly for the six years I had it, until you touched it."

That was true. Blue thought a little more. "If it only did it for me, maybe it was genetically or biologically encoded to turn on when I touch it, or when somebody with similar DNA touches it."

"That's a possibility," Nick agreed, hiding his amusement at the way this six year old child could go from talking like a kid to expounding like a research scientist. A cliche sci-fi movie thought flitted through his head: _If only we could harness this power for good..._

Blue's speculating rolled merrily along. "So, maybe if you touch it _while_ I'm touching it, while it's activated..."

"Could work," Nick said. Carefully, he reached out and placed the tip of one finger on top part of the ball. When nothing happened, he tried touching it with two, then three. He shook his head. "Sorry, son, still nothing. Maybe this was a private thing, meant only for you to see."

Blue couldn't deny that possibility, but it was one he found unacceptable. He desperately wanted for someone else to see what he saw, both to prove he wasn't just imagining it, and because he wanted to share this with his friends, old and new. His mounting frustration was making it difficult to think, but Nick saw his troubled face and made an attempt to come to the rescue.

"Of course, it might just be because I'm an Earth human," he pointed out. "What you said about coding, maybe that works only for somebody who comes from your planet."

That cleared the cobwebs from the boy's brain at once. "Of course! And you can't touch it if you're in your ball, Minion!" He started to set the shining sphere aside to open his companion's globe, then suddenly hesitated. He was plainly afraid that this was a one-time thing, that if he let go of it, the globe would never activate again.

Nick saw the problem and reached for Minion's habitat. "Just tell me which side to hold up, son," he said helpfully, grasping the globe in a way that would hold it steady and yet allow Blue to reach it with his free hand.

The boy smiled gratefully, his eyes making a quick scan of the supposedly seamless glass. "Here," he said, tapping the spot where the plug was currently located. Nick turned the globe so that the place indicated was safely at the top. Carefully, so as not to let too much water spill, Blue removed the plug and set it aside. He then picked up the glowing sphere with his fingertips and held it above the opening, where Minion could lift his head above the water and touch it with what passed for his nose.

"I still can't see anything but the light, sir," was the fish's regretful report after he'd squashed the front of his flat face against the thing for several moments. "Though maybe that's because now I'm _too _close." His golden eyes were crossed in an effort to focus on the little ball.

Blue grunted in mounting frustration, thinking hard for all he was worth. "Maybe it'll work if I lift you out of the water so you can touch it with your fin instead." It was clear that he wanted, very badly, to share this discovery with his friend.

"It's worth a try," Minion agreed. "Just a second," he added, diving back down under the water to get fully oxygenated before leaving his habitat. While Blue transferred the ball to his other hand, Nick grabbed a towel from the things scattered across the desk and draped it across the boy's lap to catch any drips.

Minion's head popped above the water again. "Okay, sir, I'm ready!"

Ever so gently, Blue slipped his fingers into the globe, sliding them alongside Minion's body to lift him out. As soon as he touched him directly, however, the fish cried out, "Oh, sir, wait, I can see it now!"

Startled, Blue withdrew his hand; Minion frowned. "Now I can't!"

His master started to frown as well, but it took only a moment for him to spot the solution. He touched Minion again, this time settling one finger on the fish's back, between his eyes and his implanted antenna. Said eyes went wide; Minion was ecstatic. "Oh, that's it, sir! I see them again! Yes, yes, those are your parents! I remember them!"

Now very curious, Nick got up to stand behind Minion. While he took care to keep the habitat steady with one hand, he settled the other on the back of Blue's head, gently. He gasped when forms became visible in the glimmering lights, then smiled. "Well, now, it looks like whoever made this thing wanted you to decide who gets to see things and who doesn't, Blue. I'm not horning in on this, am I?"

Blue wasn't familiar with the expression, but he could tell that Nick was asking for his permission to look. He smiled back. "It's okay, Mr. Nick. You've been nice to me, and I don't want you to feel left out." That was an important issue for Blue, being excluded, and he couldn't do it to his very kind rescuer. "This is my mom and dad," he explained, in case the man hadn't caught that. "I remember them best from when they put me and Minion into the escape pod."

"They're fine looking people," Nick said with approval. "And it looks to me as if some day, you might get your wish for hair, at least a little." His nod indicated the neatly trimmed black beard sported by Blue's father.

"Yeah," the boy agreed, turning back to the image with a wistful sigh. "I wish this wasn't just a picture, though. I wish they could talk to me..."

As if in response to his wish, the image abruptly came to life. His mother spoke, softly, tearfully, her words echoed by his father. The image froze for a moment, then came to life again, repeating the same movements, the same words, the same heartbroken inflections.

All three viewers listened carefully, for the sounds were faint. Nick shook his head. "I have no idea what they're saying," he confessed. "Never heard a language like that before."

Blue and Minion both listened intently, for they _had _heard it before. "That sounds _very _familiar, sir," the fish said quietly, not wanting to drown out the soft voices, nor disturb their concentration.

"I know," Blue murmured back. The words sounded familiar, _so _familiar...

_va tatharyam mykaal va tathar'yaanzi... va tatharyam, mykaal, va tathar'yaanzi... Va tatharyam, mykaal, va tathar'yaanzi... Va tatharyam, Mykaal, va..._

"Oh, sir, that's it, that's it!" Minion shouted so loudly, he managed to make both his companions' ears ring, and came close to completely derailing his master's train of thought. "That's your name, sir! I'm sure of it!"

That revelation effectively put the brakes on the boy's concentration. He looked at Minion. "It is?" he said, eyes wide. He turned back to the image being produced by the sphere in his hand, what was now clearly a brief recording playing over and over again. He listened raptly, still unsure of all the words, but recognizing the one which had to be a name. "Mee-_**kahl**__?" _he said softly, imitating the sounds, which put the emphasis on the second syllable. "Mykaal," he repeated, finding the word surprisingly easy to say, unlike some words of English. His wondering gaze returned to Minion. "My name is Mykaal?"

Minion nodded with his entire body, smiling toothily. "Yes, sir! I _knew_ I'd heard your parents say it, but you weren't quite talking when we had to leave our planet, and after we came here, to Earth, I heard so many other words and names that I had to learn and remember, I got confused and forgot. But your parents named you Mykaal, sir. I'm sure of it, now."

While Blue kept whispering the word over and over, testing it on his tongue and in his thoughts and heart, his eyes slid back to watch the repeating record, studying how his parents said the name, how they sounded, how they looked when they spoke it.

Nearby, Nick smiled at Minion. "I can understand your problem, Minion," he empathized. "There must have been a lot of new names and words for you to learn, what with your pod landing in a prison, and this sounds a lot like one of our names, Michael. It's a pretty common name to boot."

"I _know!"_ the fish groaned in dismay. "There must be at _least_ half a dozen Michaels or Mikes among Sir's 'uncles' at the prison, I know three of the officers have that name, too, and I think there's one or two at Sir's class at school. Every time I heard someone say that name, it just drove the _right_ one farther and farther out of my head!"

"It's okay, Minion," Blue assured him, stroking his friend with the finger still touching him. "You've had an awful lot to do, taking care of me, and now that I know, I don't mind not knowing sooner."

The fish's big eyes blinked in surprise. "You—you don't? Oh, but sir, this is something important, something you've been wanting to know for so long...!"

The blue head nodded. "I know. But that's why I don't mind. I think if you'd been able to tell me sooner, I would've gotten it mixed up, too, and let people call me Michael when that's not really my name. Now, I'm old enough to remember what's right, and..." He flushed sheepishly. "And I think maybe before, I would've wanted it to _be _Michael, just so there'd be some way that I was like other kids. I would've wanted to not be _me. _And like Mr. Nick said, that's not right." The smile he offered the man was oddly shy.

Nick was perplexed. "I'm glad you understand what I was trying to tell you, son, but you _wanted_ to know the name your parents gave you — and now you don't want to use it? Is that what you're saying?"

Again, Blue nodded. "Sorta. It's not that I don't like it, 'cause I do. But... well, I have trouble saying some words."

It was Nick's turn to blink. "You do? It seems to me you say things as well as I do. Is this something else the kids tell you about yourself that isn't true?"

Blue shook his head. "I just have trouble with some words. Some don't feel right when I say them, some I think I come out wrong 'cause I taught myself to read, and I didn't find out that they don't sound the way they look until I started _shool,_ some just... well, I get excited, an' they come out inside-out or upside-down or something. A lot of the kids make fun of me for that. So does my teacher."

He grimaced, as if he'd bitten down on a sweet candy only to find its taste repulsively bitter. "If I told her my name is Mykaal,she'd tell me I'm saying it wrong, and make me say Michael over and over to get it 'right.' And the rest of the class would tease me about it, no matter which way I say it. I don't _want_ 'em to know. I don't want 'em to make fun of this." He looked up, the grimace replaced with uncertainty. "Is that okay, Mr. Nick? To keep this a secret, just for me and my friends?"

Nick's smile was full of warm understanding. "Of course it's okay. It's your name, and if you want to keep it private, that's your business and nobody else's. It wouldn't be right for your teacher or anyone else to tell you it's wrong just because it doesn't sound the way they think it should. If you want it this way, then that's the way it should be." His expression turned forlorn. "Am _I _one of your friends?"

Blue could tell he was exaggerating, and giggled. "Of course, Mr. Nick. I'm glad you and Minion knew first. I might tell a few of my uncles and some of the nice officers, like Officer Davis, but... maybe not. I gotta think about it."

"Yes, I think you should, sir," Minion approved, very relieved to have finally been able to provide his young charge with confirmation of something so precious. "You're right about the kids and Ms Driscoll making something bad of it. It's a good idea to be careful."

The boy rubbed his friend's head affectionately, still smiling. "Thanks, Minion. Do you want to keep watching, or should I close your ball?"

The fish considered things, then sighed. "I'd _like _to keep watching, but I'm getting a little cold."

Blue nodded his understanding. He retrieved the habitat's plug, and when Minion had gone under again, he closed it. Nick moved back in front of the pair, used the towel to wipe away any errant dribbles on Minion's globe, then wrapped the blankets around them once again, making a little hollow in the fabric so that Minion, half-covered, could nuzzle against Blue's slim body.

The young alien made a soft sound of contentment, snuggling into the covers even as he continued to watch the glowing recorder. There was something deeply satisfying and reassuring in listening to and watching the voices and images of his parents, softly speaking his name along with words that he was slowly beginning to remember and understand. Smiling, his face lit by the mesmerizing movement of the light, he laid his free hand atop Minion's globe and relaxed into sleep, listening to the lullaby of his parents' whispered voices_._

_

* * *

_

Nick watched the unlikely pair for a while, digesting all the remarkable things that had happened that day, and the more remarkable fact that he, who had unwittingly been the keeper of a connection to an alien boy's past for six years, should happen upon him lying in a gutter, brokenhearted, on Christmas Eve. It was almost enough to make him believe that he _was_ Santa Claus, if just for tonight. After a time, he noticed that Minion had also drifted off to sleep, and he began to think it was a good example to follow. It was getting late; he'd heard the clock bell from a distant church strike eleven. He stood up and was about to blow out the candles, some of which were already guttering, when he heard footsteps on the metal stairs outside.

Being careful not to wake his sleeping guests, he tiptoed to the door and peered through the grimy window to see who might be there. He recognized Dan Kolb, one of his friends from the mission, and loosed the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in a soft sigh of relief. As quietly and quickly as possible, he shrugged into his worn coat and hat, then opened the door just wide enough to slip outside, using his body to block the cold wind as much as possible so that it wouldn't get inside and wake his guests. Just as quickly, he closed the door behind him.

"What's up, Dan?" he asked the shorter, stockier fellow who had braved the still falling snows to seek him out. "Trouble?"

The visitor, one of the mission's regular volunteers, was as bundled against the elements as one could be. "I'm not sure. There were a couple of guys from the state around earlier this evening, looking for a lost kid. It thought it was kinda weird that the DOC would send out their trackers to hunt down a kid, but I knew Ron Schreiber for a couple of years, back in college. I don't remember him as being the type to go in for being hired muscle, so I asked him a few questions. He didn't give a lot of details, but he said the kid wasn't a convict, just lost. Said he's pretty young, only about six, and he got separated from his school group during a field trip this morning. A boy, skinny and bald, green eyes. He said the kid was sick, recovering from cancer treatment, which was why his folks were so worried about him, so desperate to find him. I told him I'd keep an eye out and didn't say anything more, since that sounded a lot like the info you gave me this afternoon, though not the part about the kid being sick. I thought that was just a sob story to get people to rat on the kid, thinking they were being helpful. I kept my mouth shut, but I think Ron or his partner must've picked up on something."

Up until the last remark, Nick had not been overly concerned. He had half suspected that there would be no mention of Blue's obvious alien attributes from anyone looking for him, but that they would stoop to pulling such a blatant sympathy card bothered him. It _was _a way to explain the boy's lack of hair, but still...! Now, he frowned. "Why? What happened?"

Dan shifted, trying to shake off the cold of the biting wind. "A couple more DOC guys showed up at the mission not half an hour ago, said they were following a lead they'd gotten on a boy they were trying to find. After what I heard from Schreiber and his partner, I was gonna just let 'em go hang. You didn't say anything about the kid being sick, and I know you wouldn't've left out something like that if it were true. But these two don't seem like the usual DOC snoops. I don't know if this kid they're after belongs to one of them, but they're sure acting like he is. Not angry, but worried, real worried, like they think he might've been picked up by the kind of perverts who go for little boys. I started thinking that maybe Schreiber was telling the truth about the kid recovering from chemo, and maybe you just didn't know 'cause the kid didn't tell you, or gave you some other excuse to cover the truth."

He snorted. "Hell, I had a kid sister who went through chemotherapy, and after the first couple of rounds, if she'd been strong enough, she would've run away just to avoid another treatment. I thought maybe this kid actually pulled it off — but if he really _is_ sick, he shouldn't be out in shitty weather like this. He belongs back home in his bed, with his folks taking care of him. I slipped out when I could, while Sister Muriel was talking with them, and they're probably still back there."

Though he knew the truth about Blue, Nick understood then why Dan had come, even in the miserable weather. "Did these guys give you any names?"

"For the kid, no, which seems a little weird to me. They're Ralph Thurmer and Steven Davis. Ring any bells for you?"

Nick thought back over everything Blue had told him that day. He already recognized the name of the prison warden, as he'd heard it mentioned by some of the less savory street people with a criminal past; he also remembered that things both Blue and Minion had said about him indicated that he genuinely had the boy's best interests at heart. Davis, he recalled from other things Blue had said, was a prison guard, but one he didn't consider an enemy, as he had mentioned him as one of the people to whom he might entrust the precious secret of his real name. That they were out on the snowy streets at this hour on Christmas Eve, looking for Blue and not home safe and sound with their own families... Nick couldn't help but think that they honestly cared for Blue's welfare, though it was possible that they were merely desperate to hide the secret of the prison's resident alien child.

He made a decision. "Okay, Dan, thanks for telling me all of this. I think it might be all right to send those two over here — so long as it's just the two of them. No trackers or cops. You're right when you think this kid's been through holy hell, and I won't see him put through more of the same, especially not on Christmas. Tell them no guarantees. If he wants to go with them, that's fine, but if he doesn't... Just tell them that I know what's been going on with him, and I won't stand by and keep my mouth shut if they try to push it."

Dan's eyes widened with something bordering on shock. "Wow, that's pretty tough coming from you, Nick. You think these guys are child abusers?"

"Not them," Nick averred. "But the kid's been through rough times, and I want to be sure they don't make things worse."

Dan considered this, then nodded. "Okay, I'll tell 'em. Might take a bit for them to get here, with the streets a mess, but I'll let 'em know."

Nick was relieved. "Thanks, Dan," he said with a smile. "I always know I can count on you. Don't worry about any delay, it'll give me time to break the news to the little fellow and find out what he wants to do about it."

When Dan had headed off, trudging through the snow along the path he'd made to reach the empty warehouse, Nick quickly slipped back inside, glad for the meager warmth of the small heater after the bite of the wind-driven snow and cold. As he shucked his snowy coat, he looked at his peacefully slumbering guests. Relaxed in sleep, Blue's fingers curled gently around his two treasures, his guardian fish and the still softly glowing ball.

Thinking about the latter, Nick suspected that it had been deliberately ejected from Blue's pod when the tiny ship registered a crash. He remembered reading an article about how jet designers and the FAA had talked about the idea of having flight recorders automatically eject from crashing planes so that vital data about what had caused it could be more easily retrieved. Or maybe he'd read something like that in a science fiction story or had seen it in a movie. Whatever the case, Nick was now firmly convinced that the little record ball hadn't come off the pod by accident; it had been ejected by design because it was important, and carried information Blue's parents had wanted him — or his rescuers — to have a chance of finding when it appeared his tiny ship was crashing and might be badly damaged. He had a feeling that if things had gotten any worse, Blue himself would have been shot free of the pod, but for some reason, that threshold had never been reached. Why a data recorder would have been ejected first he didn't know, but he supposed that it might've been some minor malfunction in the systems, or perhaps an odd quirk of thinking in a people who valued knowledge. He rather doubted that last notion, though, since Blue's parents had saved him, an ignorant, innocent baby and not themselves.

Nick sighed, looking at the small smile of perfect contentment on the sleeping boy's face. If things had been different, he wouldn't have hesitated to adopt this charming little blue person and his well-mannered fish, but he had neither the resources to give him a proper home nor the strength that might well be needed to protect him from the rest of the world. Even if he'd been thirty years younger, it wouldn't have been easy, but at least then, he might've had the energy to take on the task, to give this unique child a real home.

Lacking that, he would make sure that at the very least, he would not be sending Blue back into a situation the boy could no longer tolerate. His plan decided, he shook Blue's shoulder, gently, not wanting him to wake abruptly, in fear.

"Blue?" he said softly. "Mykaal? C'mon, son, I know you're tired, but we need to talk. Blue?"

Just as Nick was beginning to think the child would not wake up until he was good and ready, Blue yawned, his big eyes blinking open, still heavy with sleep. "Mr. Nick?" he said, his voice slurred with drowsiness. "What's'matter?"

The man smiled apologetically. "I hate to wake you like this, son, but a friend of mine just came by, told me that there were people at the mission looking for you, two men named Thurmer and Davis. Do you know them?"

Blue, who had tensed a bit when Nick had said that he was being looked for, relaxed and yawned again, nodding. "That's th' Warden an' Officer Davis. Th' Warden gets strict sometimes, but he's okay, an' Officer Davis is nice, I like him. Did they come for me?"

"I told my friend to tell them you're here, so they're coming," Nick confirmed. "But if you don't want to go with them, I won't let them in. You don't have to go back to the prison unless you want to go."

He meant what he said, and hoped that the boy understood that. For a while, Blue said nothing; it looked as if he was more interested in going back to sleep. But his eyes had drifted down to the small glowing sphere still cupped in his right hand, and it was plain that he was thinking, deeply. "I don't want to live in a prison," he finally admitted, "but I don't know where I _do _want to live. I can't live by myself like you do, an'... well I guess there could be lots worse places. I have a place to sleep, there, food to eat, things to do. Minion doesn't have to be the only person keeping an eye on me, an' really, some of the people may be cranky an' nasty, but lots of others are pretty nice — lots better'n the kids at _shool._ I gotta go somewhere, I know I can't stay here with you. It's okay if the Warden an' Officer Davis want to take me home — unless the Warden's real mad at me," he added, suddenly worried. "Do you think he is?"

Nick shrugged. "I suppose he might be, but from what my friend told me, he's just worried that something bad happened to you. Lost kids sometimes get picked up by crazy characters who won't think twice about hurting them." Blue knew enough about such things to be very glad that he hadn't been found by such a person. Nick let loose a big breath. "Well, then, if that's decided, let's see if your things are all dry and get you ready to go. It's pretty cold and nasty out there, and I want to make sure you can stay warm and comfortable until you get home." It sent a pang through Nick's heart to think that "home" for Blue was a prison, but for now, there was nothing else that could be done about it. At least there, the people in charge wanted to keep the alien boy safe from the worst crazies this world had to offer.

When Blue was once again in his new clothes — having set aside Minion very carefully, as the exhausted fish was still snoring softly, his small body flipped into a strange belly-up position — Nick helped him into his coat and hat. Blue touched the cap Nick had brought back from the mission as it was placed on his head. "Do you still have the red one I was wearing before?" he asked, worried that it might have been lost. "The Warden let me borrow it, and I promised to take care of it. I didn't mean to let it get ruined."

"I'm sure you didn't," Nick consoled. "And if Dan was right, I think he'll be too happy to find you safe to worry about something like a silly hat. But I still have it here, don't you worry, and your torn pants. A little washing and mending, and they'll both be good as new. If he can't find someone to manage it, just have him send the work to me," Nick added with a wink.

Blue giggled at his little joke. Dressed and ready, he settled back into his chair to wait. Nick returned the snoozing Minion to his lap, then went to bring out a few new candles, to replace the ones that had gone out. In the gloom, Blue pulled his little ball from the pocket in which he had safely secreted it; he took off one mitten to hold it in his bare palm, and was gratified to see the soft lights return, along with the images of his parents. Idly, he wondered if the thing held any other secrets for him to find, but decided that mystery could wait to be solved on another day. He returned the ball to his pocket, put on the mitten he'd removed, and slumped down a bit, soaking up the warmth from the heater.

The clock at the distant church had rung midnight and Blue was once again fast asleep when at last, Nick — who had been nodding off a bit, himself — heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. He got up and shuffled to the window; after rubbing away a bit of the frost and dirt, he saw a big SUV rolling up the drive to the empty loading pads. From the way it was able to make good headway despite the deep snow, he was sure the thing was equipped for off-road driving with full four wheel drive. Sensible, Nick though, for anyone wanting to get around in this lake-effect blizzard. When the vehicle came to a stop beside the steps to the entrance, Nick grabbed his coat again to ward off the cold as he leaned out the door, gesturing for the two men to come inside.

"I'll wait here and keep things running," he heard the one behind the wheel say. The other man nodded, then headed up the steps.

"Ralph Thurmer," he introduced himself when they were inside. "You're Nick Cabela?" At the nod of confirmation, the warden smiled. "I've heard of you. Friends on the force call you the Backstreet Santa, do a lot of good for the homeless kids, especially around this time of year."

"I do what I can, with help," Nick was proud to admit. "I just wish it could be more."

"It was plenty, today," Thurmer said, his face a picture of concern and relief when he spotted the sleeping Blue. "Is he all right?" he asked stepping up quickly to examine the boy.

"A bump on the noggin and a scraped knee, nothing worse," Nick assured him. "He was more scared and upset, poor little guy, thinking he'd lost his friend there. It's been a rough day for him."

The warden nodded. "I've heard some of it already. Don't worry, I know that none of this was Blue's fault. He won't get punished for it. If we're lucky, the ones who _are_ responsible will catch it but good." After checking the boy ever so carefully, he looked up at the older man. "Thank you for taking care of him, Mr. Cabela. Ron Schreiber told us how protective everyone at that mission was when he came asking about Blue. I don't know how much they knew about him being an alien, but it's a lot that you cared for his welfare enough to get _them_ to care. Not many would do that."

Nick smiled crookedly, mildly embarrassed by the praise. "He's just a child, when all is said and done, Mr. Thurmer, a very sweet and smart little boy. It won't be easy for him, growing up in a world like ours, but he deserves a chance to at least try to find his way. He can't ever do that if folks won't give him that chance just because of the color of his skin."

The warden nodded, in full agreement. He straightened from where he had been examining Blue and offered Nick his hand. As they shook, in thanks and a mute agreement to pray for Blue's uncertain future, Thurmer's spoken words were sincere. "Anything you need, just ask and it's yours, Mr. Cabela. I think in the eyes of heaven, you've earned any reward that's in my power to give."

Nick's smile took on a mischievous twinkle. "I'll have to give it some thought. Seeing Blue get back with folks who care about him and can give him proper care is enough for now. Though I've still got a hankering for a new pair of winter boots. Maybe a better space heater, too, 'specially if I start making a habit of taking in lost kids and their talking fish."

The warden chuckled, mindful of the sleeping pair nearby. "I'll see what I can do. I might even be able to find some real paying work, if you want it."

"If it's work a tired old man can do, I'm game. Do you need a hand?" he asked as Thurmer started searching for the best way to lift Blue without disturbing him.

After studying the problem, the warden nodded. "If you can bring Minion, I think this will be easier. I wouldn't want to drop the poor thing, not after he took that dive off the Crosstown Overpass today."

Nick gladly took charge of the exhausted fish, who didn't so much as twitch as his globe was lifted from his master's lap. "Oh, I've got this for you, too," he said, remembering the dirtied cap he'd stuffed into one pocket while helping Blue get ready to leave. "The boy didn't want to leave it, but he was afraid you'd be upset that it got damaged. Looks to me like one of them kamikaze delivery truckers did the damage, not him."

Thurmer saw the telltale tire marks on the thing, nodding his agreement. "Someday, I'd like to hear the whole story of what he's been through today — but not today. He's all right; that's the only thing that really matters."

That said, he slipped his hands under Blue's arms and lifted him from the chair, hiking him up in his arms so that the blue head head rested against his shoulder while the rest of his slim body leaned forward against the man's broader chest, his thin legs tucked around Thurmer's waist.

At the gentle jostling, the big green eyes blinked open. "Warden?" Blue asked sleepily, recognizing the man's familiar scent. "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, Blue," he assured the boy, his gruffness wholly a disguise. "We're going home now."

"You're not mad?"

"No, I'm not mad. We can talk about it later." _ If at all._

That satisfied the boy. "Okay." He shifted a bit to get more comfortable, and saw Nick holding Minion. "Are you coming, too, Mr. Nick?" he asked around a yawn.

"Only as far as the car," Nick said, not without regret. "It was a pleasure meeting you, son, and Minion. You've brought a little light into a pretty dull place. A Merry Christmas, to both of you."

Blue smiled drowsily. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Nick," he echoed, in his sleepiness heavily pronouncing the typically silent T. "An' you, too, Warden."

Thurmer smiled. "Same to you, Blue."

"Mykaal."

The warden's brown eyes blinked. "What?"

It seemed as if the boy's jaw might unhinge, so impossibly huge was his yawn. "Tha's m'name. My _real _name. Mykaal. Jus' don't tell anyone, 'kay? 'S a secret. Jus' for friends. Right, Mr. Nick?"

Nick grinned. "Right, Mykaal. Just for friends." He said that with a meaningful look for the warden.

Thurmer couldn't stop his eyes from misting at this unexpected display of trust. He hoped to God that somehow, nothing would happen to spoil it. "A secret. You've got it, Blue — I mean, Mykaal. I won't tell, I promise. And Merry Christmas to you, too."

Content to know that his secret would be kept and life would soon be back to comparative normal — with one or two little changes — Blue settled his head against the warden's warm shoulder and smiled to himself. He was asleep again before they even reached the car, the smile seeming to have taken up permanent residence upon his small blue face.

_TBC..._


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight  
_(dedicated to all the readers and reviewers who provided inspiration for a lot of Roxanne's reactions)_

By the time she finished reading what Megamind had spent the last two weeks writing, Roxanne had gone through most of a box of tissues and had gotten her beau's iPad so spattered with expectorated gunk, he was thinking of finding his thickest pair of lab gloves or a set of tongs before touching it again. He wasn't really grossed out by the thought of touching her lachrymal secretions (he did, however, have issues with the occasional nose nuggets), but her reaction was considerably more extreme than he'd anticipated, and thus he found himself thoroughly befuddled.

"I don't understand," he admitted after she'd finished reading and had set the device aside on the coffee table of his video/living room on what he called the "non-business" floor of the Lair. She had been sniffling, sobbing, growling, snarling, spitting, and otherwise offering up the most peculiar sounds imaginable (to him) as she read, while snuggling her back against him on the comfortable leather couch. In that position, he hadn't minded at all that it had taken her the better part of two hours to reach the end, especially since she'd gone back from time to time to reread certain parts. Now that she was done, she'd sat up and was using several more tissues to dry her eyes and otherwise tidy her face. "You asked me to write the story of my most memorable Christmas, _for you_," he said, confused. "Did it really come out _that _badly?"

Roxanne finished with a ladylike honk of the nose for good measure. "Of course not, you big blue idiot!" she finally said, her affectionate tone making it an endearment, not an insult. "I just didn't expect that you could write anything so... touching. Which makes me wonder: just how much of this was exaggeration?"

The ex-villain was genuinely shocked. "Exaggeration? Why, _none _of it! I've told you time and again, I made a solemn promise to myself never to lie to you again — and I was _serious!"_

Roxanne's mouth quirked into a lovely, if skeptical, half-smile. "Oh, really? Then what was that story you fed me last Friday about having an important appointment you'd forgotten about so you could ditch going with me to the Press Club Awards Banquet?"

She had to give him one thing: when he was caught red-handed, Megamind at least had the decency to blush so furiously, he might as well have whipped out a neon sign declaring _"GUILTY!"_ and nailed it to his considerable forehead. He cleared his throat. "Ah..." he hedged. "Uh..." He coughed. "Well..." He blushed an even deeper shade of purple. "I..." He crossed his legs, uncrossed them, then folded his hands in his lap like an errant schoolboy and hung his head. "Okay, I _did_ lie about the appointment — but _not _to get out of going with you to that dinner! I would never have even thought of it, _especially_ if you'd been nominated for _anything!_ Do you think I actually _wanted_ to let another man take you, and be seen with you in public?"

He had a point. "Well, I could've gone alone, but Marty needed a last minute date after his boyfriend came down with the measles, and at least with him, nobody would think either of us were cheating on our significant others. Everyone knows how often the call of duty interferes with the social lives of superheroes, and they also know that Marty's my regular cameraman and is in a committed relationship. So why _did_ you ditch me?"

The alien looked positively forlorn. "I would _never _ditch you, Roxanne, not even as a joke. I..."

He paused, nervously rubbing the back of his long neck. "I was having trouble getting anywhere with this thing you asked me to write, beyond that little part you saw two weeks ago. Friday afternoon, Minion and I were called to investigate an unusually large break-in and theft in the warehouse district, not very far from the place where Nick Cabela once lived. On the way home, we got to reminiscing, and it brought everything into such clear focus, I wanted to write down as much as I could before I lost the inspiration. You know how I abhor listening to people blather on with mindlessly self-serving gushyfests disguised as acceptance speeches. Going to that dinner would've killed any inspiration I had for sure, provided you didn't kill me first for fidgeting and muttering rude comments. I did it for you, but I do wish I hadn't needed to lie. I... just wanted it to be a surprise."

The reporter could have sensed his sincerity even if she'd been totally blind and deaf, but seeing his face and those huge green eyes, not to mention his willingness to admit to misbehavior he hadn't done, but certainly _would_ have... She would've caved, even if she'd been positive he was lying through his teeth. "Apology accepted," she said, not needing to hear the words. "Then you didn't exaggerate the story at all? Not even for dramatic effect?"

He shook his head. "Not a word. I asked Minion to read it and verify the facts — funny, he had much the same reaction to it as you, nearly overflooded his fishbowl. Some parts did involve a bit of extrapolation to include the actions of others besides myself and Minion, but Warden Thurmer and Officer Davis and Nick all told me their side of things a long time ago. Even Wayne corroborated what the Warden had already told me about their conversation outside the _shkool." _ He was working very hard on some of his more egregious mispronunciations of common words in an effort to improve his heroic image, but there was still a lot of work left to be done.

Roxanne digested this without much difficulty. It was true, ever since that Friday, Megamind had been working very hard on some new project he'd kept shrouded in secrecy, so secret, in fact, that he hadn't been anywhere near the labs or workshops or any other part of the Lair that he typically used for such purposes. At least twice, she'd come looking for him, only to find him in odd corners of the living floor, busily doing something with his iPad, which disappeared as soon as her presence was noticed. She'd thought that he'd found some compelling new game app that he was determined to conquer. It had happened before, although this time, there had been no suspicious cries such as, "Beware, vile and foul-smelling anti-avian swine! Prepare to be totally obliterated by my Wickedly Awesome Avenging Eagle of Death!" which struck Roxanne as somehow a wee bit inappropriate banter for a hero, even one who was the new kid on the block, but still, it was charmingly Megamind...

_Okay, girl, focus, _she mind-slapped herself. It was only now that she realized he hadn't been playing or even planning; he'd been _plotting,_ literally, writing down the story of his most memorable Christmas. She'd asked him to do it two weeks ago, after they'd had a little private celebration of his birthday, which Minion had told her most emphatically was December third, no doubt about it, once adjusted to Earth dates. Roxanne had thought it interesting that in prison records and thus to most of the public, Megamind's birthdate was listed as December seventeenth, and Wayne Scott's birthday was officially registered as November fifteenth. She'd always felt that Metro Man was slightly older than his supposedly villainous counterpart, but as she came to understand their non-Earthly origins, she'd also wondered if the Scotts had simply pulled the date out of a hat to suit the apparent age of Lady Scott's "Christmas present." Both Minion and Megamind were very certain of the blue genius' precise age, but privately, Roxanne had a feeling Wayne didn't really have a clue as to his own.

Whatever the case, Roxanne had to admit that over the past week, her boyfriend's behavior hadn't been exactly what she'd call normal. She'd given him the iPad as a birthday gift, along with a custom black leather slipcase embossed with his electric blue lightning-bolt logo, which conveniently concealed the appropriately mushy engraving she'd had etched onto the back of the Pad's metal case. It was one of very few techie gizmos he didn't own but had actually expressed interest in eventually acquiring. It wasn't the device itself that entranced him so much as its myriad apps, which fascinated him and drew him in like a kid to a candy shop. Hero work apparently left less time for indulgence in such mundane things as shopping and entertaining computer programming than did villain work. Even Minion hadn't had the time to do much gift hunting for the boss's birthday; his little at-home party and a few gift cards had been the best he could manage, given time constraints.

But Megamind had been delighted nonetheless (really, he was surprisingly easy to delight), especially since two of the cards were for iTunes, and provided sufficient funding to let him go app shopping to his heart's delight. Roxanne had been the one to suggest that he might want a word processor, since of late, he had been called upon to give more written statements and opinions and interviews than he'd ever been asked to do in his life. To familiarize himself with it — and for her own curious edification, given the time of year — she'd asked him to write the story of his favorite Christmas as a child, thinking it would be a quick lark, and possibly something she might be able to use for an article to help the people of Metro City get better acquainted with the more human side of their new defender. She'd expected him to rap it off in ten minutes; instead, it had taken him nearly two weeks.

The result had been nothing less than stunning to her, not only because of its length or the poignancy of the story it told, but also because it showed that he had communication skills that went well beyond his flair for wild dramatics. The tale had taken her from amusement to agony to anger and, yes, even a bit of awe, and she was admittedly impressed.

But impressed or not, knowing that it was pretty much an accurate account now left her with several significant questions. Still thinking about all she had just read, she picked up the iPad for a moment, scanned the last page of text it displayed, then set it down again. She shook her head, not in rejection, but confusion. "Nick was right, then: you _were_ a smart, sweet, _nice _little boy. What happened? I mean, I know you and Wayne have had this rivalry going back a long time, but it's not like there was nobody in your life who cared about you. The warden, some of the guards — they practically treated you like you were their own son! How could you decide to become a villain and turn your back on them?"

Megamind said nothing for so long, Roxanne thought he was not going to answer the question. When she looked at him, however, she could see his mind at work behind his unfocused eyes. "It's hard to explain to someone who hasn't lived through it," he finally said softly. "I was _aware_ of the fact that the warden and others at the prison were trying to help me live a normal life — but in the end, it was impossible. I was a blue-skinned alien child living in a _prison. _No matter how kind some of the people were, there were many more who were there for very good reasons. On one hand, I was shown occasional acts of kindness by those who cared, but every day, I saw a great deal more ugliness, the contempt and hatred and bitterness many of the inmates held toward the entire world."

He sighed. "That prison was specifically designed to house criminals who were by and large incorrigible sociopaths, people with dangerous gifts and attitudes that made them highly unlikely to ever reintegrate with the rest of society. The first time I was sent into the outside world, what happened? I encountered an arrogant, super-egoed bully and a teacher who was prejudiced against anyone who came from a background without money and power. Those 'li'l gifted kids' were 'gifted' only because they'd been born into privileged, wealthy families. My gifts were different. They were real, but they couldn't hold a candle to Wayne's showy powers and his family position. With that kind of setup, it was inevitable that I'd come to believe I was like the other inmates: a congenital sociopath who was destined to be condemned as evil."

He paused, his eyes focusing on the iPad, then on Roxanne. "I know that I made some bad choices that I can't blame on anyone but myself, and I do regret how they hurt the people who had genuinely tried to help me and protect me. But when I made some of my worst choices, I was still a kid. I was hurt and I was angry, eventually _very _angry, and I lashed out against anything and anyone that seemed to be a part of those people and systems that had hurt me." Somehow, despite the serious topic, he managed a wan smile. "But it could've been worse."

"Worse?" Roxanne echoed, taken aback. "That's hard to believe...!"

"Oh, but it's true," he assured her with a shockingly casual wave of one hand. "In the past twenty years, I may have been responsible for considerable property damage and general mayhem, but I never once hurt anyone, never killed anyone — I even went out of my way to keep the damage to a minimum when I could, since too much uncontrolled destruction would've risked injuring innocent people. Yes, I kept trying to eliminate Metro Man, but I always knew that killing him would be impossible. I focused my energies on him because my entire point was to prove that just once, _somehow, _I could beat him at _something! _Why do you think I enjoyed all that ridiculous back-and-forth banter? It was the only kind of battle of wits I could get him to engage in! If he'd been willing to sit down and face off with me in a public game of chess, or even Trivial Pursuit, I probably would've been just as happy!"

Unexpectedly, Roxanne found herself chuckling. "So if Wayne hadn't stuck to the brawn over brains approach, we could've gotten an endless round of _real _games out of the two of you and not all the physical fighting?"

Abashed to hear it put that way, Megamind flushed, but nodded. "I think I could've lived with that. All I _really_ wanted was for people to recognize that a powerful mind can be just as awesome as a powerful body. I just wanted to have _my _talents recognized and respected for a change. But it didn't happen that way, not even when I was a child. Peer pressure and bad examples and even worse circumstances pushed me into thinking that I would get nowhere trying to imitate Wayne and all the 'good' people in my life. Still, I was never as... _consumed _by my anger as I might've been. If not for the occasional kindness of people like Nick and Officer Davis and Warden Thurmer, my anger could've grown much, _much_ worse, more destructive and vicious. Fortunately, they were in my life at the right times, and they had a positive effect on me that most people never noticed. There were times when I could've chosen to take a much darker, much more genuinely _evil_ path — and every time I took one step in that direction, I practically ran screaming from it in terror."

Roxanne couldn't help but laugh at the image. "Yes, I can see that, all too clearly."

He feigned indignation. "Laugh all you want, my dear, but it's true."

"Oh, I know it is, sweetie," she assured him, patting his arm in a gesture of affectionate consolation as she leaned forward to offer a brief but reassuring kiss. "You may have acted scary at times, but you were never really all that terrifying. It didn't take long before I began to think that doing something truly evil — I mean, serial killer, mass murderer, wholesale death and destruction, nuke 'em 'til they glow type evil — terrified you just as much as it did any sane person. You were giving it your best shot, sure, you wore the whole Master of Evil get-up and you talked the talk, but you never _really_ walked the walk. Plenty of other people bought the act, and you could be one serious pain in the butt, but I think that's why I could never bring myself to hate you, why I even kind of liked you, even when you kept turning my life into a three-ring circus. Under it all, I could see the rejected little kid, just wanting to get some kind of attention, some kind of notice that he wasn't totally insignificant and unlovable. A lot of us have issues, that way. But for most of us, it never got even half as bad as it must have been for you."

For a second or two, she was sure Megamind was about to pout, but instead he sighed again and offered her a small but grateful smile. "Thank you for not coming right out and saying that I was the most pitiful excuse for a villain in the entire history of villainy — not that I _was," _he added, for the sake of his bruised ego. "Say what you might about the effectiveness of my plans, but at least I _always _executed them with style!"

The reporter laughed, kindly. "Now, I can agree with _that_ one hundred percent! So," she continued more gently, "I do understand what you meant about people like Nick being positive influences, but were you really so angry that you actually turned on Warden Thurmer and made him hate you?"

The fingers of the alien's left hand drummed on one black denim-covered knee while he considered the matter. "I would say yes I was, but to be honest, he never _has_ acted like he hates me. Oh, he's gotten boiling mad at me, and there have been times when I thought he would have a classic medieval dungeon built for the prison just so he could lock me in it and throw away the key, but... well, you've seen the special cell they had built for me, haven't you?"

"The one with the rainbows and fuzzy animals and happy thoughts painted all over the walls?"

He winced. "Yes, that one. Apparently, the idea of using cheerful decor to try to stimulate my better nature was his handicapped son's idea, something he came up with after seeing the negative effect sterile utilitarian surroundings have on patients in mental health institutions. I don't think he suggested what was actually used — I've heard a rumor that the specifics came from one of the guards' eight year old daughters — but it surprised me that he was even willing to try, after I traded in my surly juvenile delinquent teenager bit for full-scale attempts at supervillainy. I'm afraid that over time, our relationship degenerated into just another version of The Game I played with Metro Man, and even though he could and did get very angry and upset with me, I believe the warden was actually much more disappointed in me. He _had _tried his best to protect me from people who wouldn't have thought twice about hurting and killing me in the name of science or religion, he _did_ care about me, and I repaid him by turning against him — by turning all he had done for me into a cruel joke."

He paused, his eyes filling with genuine sadness and deep regret. "It was a terrible thing to do, as it is for any parent who wonders where they failed when their children go wrong. I realized that while I was writing this for you, and it might make you happy to know that I intend to apologize. I'm not sure _how, _yet, but I will, as soon as I can."

Roxanne's smile was full of confident encouragement. "I'm sure you will. If there's one thing you've learned very well since turning hero, it's how to face up to your mistakes and apologize. Wayne could use a few pointers, that way," she added with a soft snort. "He still needs to realize that he owes the citizens of Metro City an apology for walking out on them."

Surprisingly, the ex-villain was willing to be more charitable. "At least we got him to agree to the story about losing his powers so I could be publicly cleared of his murder, which never happened. Don't hold your breath waiting for more, my dear Roxanne. His skull is every bit as thick as his hide. I figured that out on the first day I saw him again in _shkool."_

Roxanne conceded the point, but her expression suddenly turned hard and angry, causing her beau to flinch in confused fear, wondering what he'd done wrong now. She forged on before he could ask. "Which brings me to my next question: how the hell was a narrow-minded insensitive bitch like your Ms Driscoll allowed inside the walls of a school — _any _school? My God, you were six years old, and you _jumped off a moving bus on a freaking expressway!_ I don't care what kind of troublemaker she _thought _you were, she should've made it stop immediately and called the police! Hell, if it'd been me, I would've pushed that little Osgood creep out instead!"

Her face turned red-hot as her entire body stiffened and bristled with her furious and righteous indignation; she seriously looked as if she wanted to find the woman and punch her lights out. Megamind smiled, relieved that her anger wasn't aimed at him, and took his turn as the voice of reason. "Calm down," he suggested in his best soothing tones, which were actually quite good. "Remember, it all turned out for the best. If she hadn't been such an insensitive bitch, as you say, I would never have met Nick, and _that _experience is one I treasure very much. Besides," he added, his smile turning deliciously wicked, "she got what she deserved, in the end."

Roxanne scowled, not yet willing to let go of a good rant. "What, did she get a week at the Rack and Thumbscrews Spa for Christmas?"

"No," he said wistfully, "it did take a few more months before she got her comeuppance. Remember what I told you about how Wayne's hideout had been our _shkool_house, and how he took it away the day I was expelled?" She nodded, still fuming. "Well, for once, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes didn't get a gold star for his 'heroism.' That afternoon, the parents came to pick up their kids at the usual time, only to find the entire building, and their children, gone. They went ballistic, calling the police, demanding to know who had kidnapped their little darlings, what had happened to destroy the _shkool. _Both Wayne and Ms Driscoll had a lot of explaining to do. He was able to hide behind the excuse that he was only a child and didn't know any better. Ms Driscoll tried to shove the blame onto me, but there was no way she could deny that she'd actually encouraged Wayne to rip the place up from its foundation and fly it miles away, endangering the lives of an entire group of unprotected children. The parents were screaming for justice, most of them pulled their kids out of the 'dangerous environment,' the Scotts had to pay settlements to keep from getting prosecuted for Wayne's actions, and one of the other parents, a state senator, started an investigation to get Ms Driscoll's teaching certificate and _shkool _charter revoked."

"Did he?" Roxanne demanded, still not entirely appeased.

There was a certain ever-so-innocent wickedness in the hero's answering grin. "Oh, he did more than just that. He found out that Ms Driscoll didn't even _have _a valid certificate or charter. She'd forged all of her certifications — and what's more, it hadn't been the first time, far from it. It turned out that she was really Doreen Blake, a college flunkie from Texas, and she was wanted in at least eleven states east of the Mississippi for pulling this same scam, setting up special _shkools _for 'gifted' — a.k.a. 'rich' — kids. She'd take in as many as local laws permitted, charge an outrageous tuition for glorified babysitting, then close down after one or two semesters at most, whenever something happened to get one of the parents suspicious, and move on. Since the kids never really learned anything, and her idea of a progressive education made _Lord of the Flies _look like tea with the Queen, it never took very long for the truth to start coming out. The senator was out for her blood, and she wound up charged with fraud, forgery, child abuse, extortion, everything he could make a case for. It wasn't hard, since there was plenty of incriminating evidence. She tried to get off on an insanity plea — which almost worked, since she was obviously crazy — and was extradited to the other states where she was wanted on the same charges, and a few others." He snickered gleefully. "Last I heard, she was still going through the courts and piling up more real life sentences than I ever did."

"Not bad," Roxanne allowed, still calming down from her explosion. "Though I still think the rack and thumbscrews would've been a nice touch."

"No argument here."

She took a few deep and steadying breaths, let go of most of her remaining anger, then, like a good investigative reporter, moved on. "What happened to Nick?" she asked. "Do you know?"

Megamind nodded. "Warden Thurmer found him a job with the Department of Corrections, working as a teacher in the education department of a women's medium security facility. I kept in touch with him through letters for a few years after he settled into an apartment of his own. After I was kicked out of _shkool _with the idea that I was destined to be a bad boy, he tried very hard to convince me otherwise. It wasn't a wasted effort; for five years, I didn't want to disappoint him, so I didn't throw myself into it as hard as I eventually would."

"What happened to change that?"

His entire face suddenly flooded with deep sadness. "He died," the ex-villain said softly, but bluntly. "Of perfectly natural causes, of course. It was a massive myocardial infarction, caused by a congenital heart defect. He didn't suffer, but it broke my heart when I heard. I did know he wasn't really Santa Claus, but I thought if anyone on Earth deserved the job, it was him. At least I was able to console myself with the thought that because we'd met, he was able to have a job and a decent life during the time he had left, though part of me was angry that he couldn't be saved. Dr. Schneider tried to explain to me how serious his condition actually had been; he told me that if he'd continued living on the streets, Nick would probably have died much sooner. He passed away when I was twelve — and thankfully, he never had to see my public career as a supervillain. I'm afraid that would have broken _his _heart, more than any mere defect of nature."

Roxanne heard the honest remorse in his voice. She knew there was really nothing she could say to ease such grief, so she settled for expressing her sympathy through a long, quietly loving hug, which he gratefully accepted. For a long time, they remained that way, as she waited until he was ready to continue before releasing him.

"So," he eventually said in a lighter voice, allowing the remembered sadness to pass, "do you have any other questions, Ms Nosy Reporter?"

She sat up straighter, smiling at his willingness to tease. "Just one. Is your name really Michael?"

"No," he replied with traditional Megamind haughtiness. "It's Mykaal."

She cocked one eyebrow in equally traditional Ritchi skepticism. "Really?"

"Really. For once, _you _are the one doing the mispronouncing!"

She remained deliberately unconvinced. "You sure about that? I could just see you picking a name like Michael..."

"Why, because it means _I am like God?"_

She punched his arm playfully. "It's _who is like God?,_ not _I am. _ Actually, I was thinking of the story about St. Michael."

"I don't know it," the alien admitted. "I only know about the meaning because one of the guards, Mike O'Malley, told me when he thought he'd heard Officer Davis call me Michael. There are so many religions and myths and legends on this planet, I wouldn't know where to begin studying them."

Roxanne had to agree. "That's true. This one is just something I remember hearing in Sunday _Shkool_ — darn it, you've got me doing it, now!" He grinned triumphantly at her slip, and she pretended not to notice. "I heard it in Sunday School when I was a little girl, and I remembered it mostly because of my Uncle Mike, who was a beat cop in New York. St. Michael was one of the archangels, some say the greatest. He was the one who threw down Satan and defeated him, and became the great Defender of the People. Some considered him a healer, and others thought he was the angel of death and justice. I remember from somewhere that the colors associated with him are blue and black — your favorites. Now, if _I_ can keep all this information in my puny human brain—" She tapped her head with one finger. "—I figured _you_ might've researched it yourself, just out of curiosity." The same finger lightly poked him right between the eyes.

Megamind, having been focused on her finger, uncrossed his eyes and conceded the possibility. "I _might _have, but I didn't. It's interesting, though, and I can see why you thought I might be familiar with it." He laughed, quietly amused. "You know, if Officer Mike had told me things like this, I might've reconsidered going the supervillain route. Having a name so similar to that of such a powerful figure of good might've felt like a stronger proof of destiny than Ms Driscoll's abuse and Wayne Scott's brattiness! As it was, all Officer Mike's information did was give my growing sense of egotism further fuel for the fire."

Roxanne snickered. "Ah, so you admit you've got an over-inflated ego, eh?"

The genius remained resolutely unruffled. "An over-inflated ego, and an underdeveloped sense of self-esteem. It's a bad combination. But I never really thought that there might be anything more behind the name. It's just a coincidence, anyway. My name _is _Mykaal, not Michael."

"Are you sure of that?" Roxanne asked, the sparkle of challenge in her eyes.

As always, Megamind was up to it, his green eyes glinting back, accepting the challenge with a boyish energy and enthusiasm she loved. "Positive. Would you like to see the proof?"

She couldn't resist. "Only if this isn't another way of asking if I'd like to come up and see your etchings."

He rolled his eyes and he sniffed. "Really, would someone with my impressive intellect stoop to using such a trite and dated cliche if my intentions were..." He waggled his eyebrows impishly. "...less than honorable?"

"Why not? You've stooped to it before..."

"Never with you — well, not often, anyway," he amended, the tips of his ears turning an interesting shade of fuschia. "Come along," he said primly, suddenly standing up. "I'll show you, and I promise you won't be offended."

Smiling, Roxanne let up on the teasing, accepted his gallantly offered hand to rise from the couch, and happily retained her hold on it as he led her to yet another part of his Lair.

_TBC..._


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

On the day he had defeated Titan and began the change from Megamind the luckless villain to Megamind the much more successful hero, Roxanne had been introduced to the Lair's hitherto unseen living quarters. After the inevitable statements to the police, discussions with the mayor and other officials, and a just-in-case visit to the hospital, it had been discovered that her apartment had been trashed by Hal, who apparently had come looking for her while she and Megamind had gone to Metro Man's hideout, seeking his help. In a fit of generosity, Megamind had offered her the temporary use of a part of his fortunately intact home, to use until her apartment was repaired or she found more suitable lodgings.

Located on the topmost floor of the old warehouse, the place where he and Minion did their non-villainous living had come as a huge shock to Roxanne, not because it existed, but because it showed that the usually over-the-top alien actually had a thoughtfully classy side she had never suspected. Thanks to a teenaged fascination with architecture (which Megamind claimed had actually been a fascination with the engineering necessary to cause spectacular acts of demolition and destruction), every room on the floor had been done in a distinctly different style of architecture and decor, each suitably reflecting both an excellent sense of form and function, as well as some of the villain's carefully hidden quirks. The Frank Lloyd Wright Prairie School style living/video room was one of her personal favorites (with the positively decadent Art Nouveau master bathroom a close second), but she also enjoyed the chamber they were now entering: a huge library that, as near as she could describe it, was a futuristic interpretation of neo-Byzantine styles. It was where the alien genius kept all manner of books, CDs, videos, blueprints, maps, and various other informative items and devices along with an equally impressive number of mementos and knickknacks that ranged from highly sophisticated to childishly tacky.

The library's lighting was mostly indirect, to give it an atmosphere well-suited to its design and function. Only a part of it came on as the couple entered, an energy conserving renovation Minion had suggested as something they ought to do, now that they were the good guys. Megamind hadn't objected, largely because Roxanne approved, but also because it gave the place an aura of mystery which he still enjoyed. They headed for the oversized curio cabinet in which the oldest artifacts of his childhood were kept and lovingly preserved, once they had been smuggled out of the prison. Roxanne was already familiar with his battered escape pod and the still glowing binky, as well as the now-empty and slightly cracked sphere that had been Minion's first habitat.

That sight prompted another thought. "By the way, where _is _Minion tonight? I wanted to thank him for the great leftovers he sent over to the office for lunch." The food, as always, had been excellent, but what she'd really wanted to thank him for was the inspiration of sending it via brainbot. The stir the little thing had caused trying to get in to see her had been priceless.

"Out playing celebrity," Megamind explained as he scanned the cabinet shelves, as if looking for something that was missing. "He was invited to participate in a seminar at the convention of some Great Lakes ichthyological society this afternoon, and he was asked to attend their banquet this evening as a guest of honor. I don't expect him home until the wee hours of the morning."

Roxanne's blue eyes widened. "And you didn't go with him?" She was frankly surprised.

But Megamind smiled, suspending his search. "Not this time. I know, he's always been there to root for me under similar circumstances, but I think he deserves a chance to have the spotlight all to himself, for a change. Not that I believe my mere presence would take that away from him, but you know Minion. He's so determined to make up for all the years I was feared and rejected, he'd insist on sharing the attention, if I was there. I didn't want that to happen. He didn't think it would, but I persuaded him to try it my way, just this once. If things go badly, I promised I'd go with him, next time — and I'm sure there will _be_ a next time, just as I'm sure he's going to have a ball, being outside my shadow."

Roxanne's surprise melted into a look of affection. "You big softie," she teased, though she also kissed his cheek. "Minion _does_ deserve that, and it's sweet of you to think of him that way. You may have a big head, but at least it isn't swelled — most of the time."

To his credit, he laughed. "Well, it _is _Megamind, not MegaEgo. There were reasons I chose 'Megamind' as my professional name, you know," he added as he turned back to the cabinet. "Aside from the fact that it was extremely cool and accurately descriptive—" He blithely ignored her dubious snort. "—it also happened to use the same letter — or equivalent letter sound — as my real name. That made the logo more useful, since it could double as a legitimate monogram, if I wanted. Wayne, the idiot, never thought of _that."_

Roxanne pondered that possibility while Megamind released her hand to open the glass-fronted cabinet. It was securely locked, but nonetheless recognized his touch and soundlessly unlatched for him. "I suppose it would've made sense," she reflected, watching him do something with the back of a particular shelf that suddenly made an invisible panel slide open. She had to hand it to him, he was amazing when it came to inventing invisible security, not to mention achieving outright invisibility. "Wayne never bothered to hide behind a secret identity any more than you did. But what name would he have used? Wonder Snob?"

Megamind chuckled. "I've thought of worse," he admitted. "I mean, really, why even bother with a hero name when you pick something as unimaginative as 'Metro Man'? It's like a hero in New York calling himself 'Bronx Man' or 'Yonkers Man.' No sense of presentation and style at all!"

He reached into the compartment behind the hidden door and pulled out a cube of gleaming black metal, about the same general size as a baseball. The door slid back into place, once again blending seamlessly with the back of the shelf. When his arm withdrew from the cabinet, it also closed, locking as silently as it had opened.

Roxanne shook her head in amazement. "I'm not sure I'll ever get used to all the hyper-advanced technology you've got around this place. Could you imagine what people would pay for some of this stuff?"

The blue genius waved it off as a matter of inconsequence. "Yes, and can you imagine how badly it could be abused if some of it fell into the wrong hands? I, at least, have always had morals and ethics and a regard for the lives of others. You can't say that about the military and terrorist types or even the big business types who would want to exploit it the most. I've managed to patent enough harmless technology to provide for my needs. I don't need to risk having my inventions misused by people with no regard for anything but personal gain."

"You've got a point," she had to admit. "Better that you keep some of these things quiet, to use on the really dangerous villains when you need it. So, what's the deal?" she asked as he took the black cube to a nearby table and set it down.

He gave her a secretive little smile as he touched the cube and, like the cabinet and the hidden safe, it opened. In this case, its upper half popped back like the top of a jewel box, revealing its hidden gem: a faintly opalescent sphere perhaps two inches in diameter, nestled on a bed of electric blue silk. It reflected the various lights in the room rather prettily, but was otherwise unremarkable in appearance. But Roxanne knew better.

"Is this the ball you wrote about?" she asked, her head cocked curiously as she studied it. "The one Nick gave you?"

"The same," Megamind confirmed. From the lid of the box, he pulled out a piece of matching blue silk, which he then used to pluck the sphere from its nest so that his fingers didn't touch it directly. "Over the years, I've been able to examine both it and the pod more closely. Eventually, I was able to figure out that this is a very powerful data storage device, designed to hold and dispense its information in response to various stimuli. The pod didn't eject it because of an impending crash, like Nick had thought. It was designed to release the data sphere when the pod landed and the airlock seal was cracked. Though the door didn't pop open in that first bounce, the airlock seal _did _crack then, so the sphere was ejected at that moment of impact. It didn't go far from where the pod struck, as I was supposed to find it and pick it up, as any child would, as soon as I left the pod. If I was lucky enough to have a rescuer at hand, they would find it first, think it was my toy, and hand it to me. It would then scan my DNA and other identifying factors through contact with my skin, and activate. Since I was a baby, the presumption was that I would be handled by my rescuer, who would be able to see the sphere's message when in direct contact with me."

"That's very clever," the reporter approved, brushing back a stray lock of her dark hair to take a closer look at the thing. "Does it have any other secrets you've discovered over the years?"

His eyes glittered with a charmingly mysterious light. "A few," he said cryptically. He reclaimed her hand with his empty one and drew her to a dim part of the room that held several comfortable high-backed leather chairs. He guided her into one, then pulled up another so that he could sit facing her, close enough for their knees to touch. She raised one eyebrow to ask what he was up to; she got her answer as soon as he was seated.

"I don't know who designed this technology," he explained as he adjusted his legs and moved forward a little bit more so that when he took her hand and drew it toward him, her arm was still in a comfortable position, not awkwardly outstretched. "I like to think it was my parents, since they appear to have been the only ones on our planet with either the ability or the foresight to save their child. But it's possible others did, and I was the only one sent to Earth. Neither here nor there, in any case." He took her hand and turned it palm up, then slipped the sphere from the piece of silk to rest cupped in her fingers, his own palm cradling the back of her hand.

Her forehead crinkled with confusion, for the sphere remained lifeless and dark. "I thought you said it only activates if you touch it directly."

Megamind nodded. "That's right, but I found there are other things that influence its playback, for lack of a better word. Someone else may have invented the technology, but my parents _definitely _programmed these parameters for me, to provide me with certain... things."

This time, both Roxanne's eyebrows lifted. "Things?" she echoed. "Are you _sure _this isn't a weird metaphor for showing me your etchings?"

His answering expression was the most perfect non-verbal, "Puh-_leeze!" _Roxanne had ever seen. She shrugged apologetically, blowing him a small kiss for good measure. It wasn't much, but it worked.

_"Anyway," _the mollified ex-villain continued, "I always knew that my parents must have loved me, to try to save me rather than themselves, but at first, I thought it was a pretty raw deal. I _needed _them, not just to save me, but to be there for me when I wanted comfort when I was scared, when I needed soothing when I was angry, when I just needed to hear that I was loved, like any little kid does. They couldn't actually _be _there to do all those things, but I found out that they _had_ tried, as best they could."

He closed his eyes for the better part of a minute, took several deep breaths that he released slowly, as if trying to achieve some kind of trance or rapport, then touched the sphere with the index finger of his other hand.

Roxanne gasped when instantly, the sphere began to glisten and glow, just as he'd described in his writing, tingling ever so slightly against her skin. Very quickly, the beautiful display of glimmering colors took shape, and settled into the forms of two people, clearly a man and a woman of Megamind's alien race, both blue-skinned, large-headed, and bald. Both were dressed in high-collared jumpsuits of shimmering white, and both wore expressions of deep sadness, and deeper affection. The man was brown-eyed, with a full black Vandyke style goatee and a long-featured face very much like the new hero's; the woman's only hair was her elegant black eyebrows, and her large eyes were a bright and oh-so-familiar emerald green. At first, they were no more than a still image; then they moved and spoke, their voices soft but clear.

_"We love you, Mykaal. We will __always__ love you."_

The message whispered over and over, and was so intensely heartfelt, it brought tears to Roxanne's eyes. "Oh, Megamind...!" she breathed, unable to speak more loudly. "I understand them!"

He opened his eyes and nodded, smiling faintly. "Yes, _now. _ The device apparently has a kind of intelligent translator as part of its function. The more it's exposed to a language, the more it learns. Earth has so many different languages, my parents couldn't have been sure which one would be used where I finally landed. Even though I _think _they'd planned for specific coordinates, there were too many things that might've happened to change them. After Nick found it, he apparently kept it someplace where it couldn't pick up enough English to learn it, so when I first activated it, it spoke to me in my native language, and I was already beginning to forget the little of it that I knew. In the crowded environs of the prison, it was able to pick up considerably more, and once I was out, I just happened to keep it close enough to things like televisions for it to learn even more. The first time it spoke to me in English, I nearly fainted!"

"But you did understand what they were saying, when Nick gave it to you?"

His answering expression seemed to simultaneously confirm and deny it. "Not immediately, but very quickly, yes, certainly before I fell asleep after he'd given it to me." His gaze focused on the familiar image, his face softening into equally familiar affection. "I suppose I heard them say this a lot, during those first eight days when we were together. I needed to hear this that night with Nick, and many times after. It's the first thing every child needs to hear from their parents."

Roxanne agreed completely. "It certainly is. Did the image start talking because you wished it could?"

"In a way. Its sensory capacities extend to picking up emotional stimuli, not just biological, and when it does, it reacts by playing other recordings my parents made, designed to offer comfort or support or certain information. Once, when I was upset and angry and confused and wanted to know why I'd been sent away, why I just didn't die along with the rest of my world, I triggered a recording of my father explaining why they decided to try to save me, and why our world was doomed. It must have required a very unique emotional stimulus, because I've never been able to get it to replay. I wish I could; there was so much information I couldn't remember because I was too upset at the time to give it my full attention."

"Maybe it's just as well," the reporter offered, gently, her blue eyes raising to meet his. "Not that you can't retrieve the information, but that you never were in that same state of mind. It almost sounds as if you were getting dangerously close to suicidal."

Megamind had started to protest, but what he had planned to say dissipated in the face of her compassionate reason. He closed his mouth, then nodded. "You may be right. I really don't have those kind of tendencies — the prison psychologist once called me obscenely and recklessly optimistic — but that was the closest I'd ever been. Things were... very difficult for me, then. And I suppose it may be for the best that I _can't _get it to play again. However I feel about it, that world is dead, gone forever. _This_ is my home, now."

Her head having lowered to study the recording again, Roxanne glanced up at him through her eyelashes, with a look that reliably made his heart and knees melt. "It's not _so _unbearable, is it?"

Megamind's answering smile was endearingly sappy. "No, not any— oh!" His moonstruck expression suddenly turned to one of startled surprise. It took only a second for her to see what had caused his reaction.

The image of his parents had vanished, the voices faded to silence. The swirling ribbons of formless color had returned; they moved more quickly for several moments, then slowed, reformed, and shimmered into the image of his mother. She was alone, dressed in clothing similar to the white jumpsuit, but with a higher collar and made of some fabric in gleaming hues of green that complemented her eyes. She was smiling, a look that mingled relief and sadness.

_"Mykaal, my son," _she said warmly. _"If you are seeing this message, you have managed to live and survive on your new world for thirty-six years, as time is counted there. This means that in the natural ways of our kind, you have now fully reached that part of our life cycles known as adulthood."_

_"WHAT?"_

Megamind was so shocked by his mother's words, he leapt to his feet and clapped both hands to his head, causing the sphere's light to go out. Fortunately, Roxanne had reflexively closed her fingers around it, saving it from skittering off into the suddenly darker library. She couldn't restrain the smirk that tugged at her lips. "It sounds to me as if your mom was saying, 'Congratulations, son, today, you are a man.'"

The alien genius regarded his girlfriend with horrified disbelief. She chuckled softly then relented, taking his hand with her free one and placing a soft kiss on its back. "It sounds pretty shocking," she said in more reassuring tones, "but I have to admit, it explains a lot."

"Oh, does it?" he squeaked, not terribly reassured. "Like... like... like just _what _does this explain?" He flung his free arm wide, obviously at a loss.

Roxanne tugged on his hand, encouraging him to sit down again. He complied, but nervously, as if the slightest thing might set him off again. She took a deep breath, willing him to calm down. She was positive she could feel the pulse of his hammering heart through his slender fingers. "Well, maybe it doesn't explain much to you, but to those of us on the outside looking in... yeah, it explains a lot. I know you've always been offended by the way so many people in the media describe your behavior as childish and juvenile — but now, it looks like there's an actual reason for it. You _have _been a juvenile, for a lot longer than anyone expected, even you! But it's not something wrong with you, like people who act childishly because they refuse to grow up. Oh, I'm sure you'll always have a certain child_like_ quality about you because that's just the way you are, and it's part of what I love about you, your sense of wonder and your enthusiasm for all life has to offer, even your over-the-top dramatics. But some of your more genuinely child_ish_ behavior, the things the media likes to ridicule... Ever since you decided to become the good guy, you've been sort of... growing out of them. I noticed it a long time ago, but I was afraid that if I said anything, you'd be offended. But it's not a bad thing, not at all. It can help you win the respect you've always wanted, to get people to take you more seriously. It doesn't mean that you have to give up anything that makes you happy, or act any differently just because other people think you should; it just means that maybe you'll develop a better sense of how and when to use all the things that make you who you are to your best advantage, to get the most out of life in the way you want."

She paused, trying to gauge his reaction, which still appeared to be one of shock. "Am I making any sense?" she asked.

Megamind remained frozen for a moment, like a deer in the headlights; then he blinked, and his scared stiff, outraged demeanor relaxed. His mobile face danced through a series of indecipherable but interesting expressions, then settled into a sort of hard-thinking befuddlement. "I suppose," he finally allowed, then heaved a considerable sigh. "Yes, yes, you are, you're making perfect sense. It's just... I mean, I never had any idea about this! Minion never said anything, though I doubt he knew, and neither did any of the other messages my parents recorded. Gah, I wish they'd sent an _encylopidia_ in the pod! It would've been _so_ useful...!"

Roxanne smiled. "It's _encyclopedia, _hon, and maybe it's just as well they didn't. Like you said, that world is gone, and it wouldn't have helped you much if you'd known all there was to know about a place you could never go back to."

"I guess..." He visibly deflated, shoulders sagging as he slumped into the chair. "It's just... embarrassing," he admitted, managing to get out the last word after a huge pause.

Her smile faded. "Why? It's not like she called you her widdle bitty cutesie-pooh baby boy..."

He winced. "She might as well have. She said I've been an overgrown _child _all these years! And apparently, I _was! _How would _you _feel if our positions were reversed?"

Roxanne tried to imagine it, and saw his point. "Embarrassed, probably. I know I didn't care for it when my dad called me his 'pretty little princess' in front of my boyfriends when I was sixteen, and I would've strangled him if he'd tried that when I was eighteen or twenty. But I'm sure your mother wasn't trying to embarrass you. If what's bothering you is the fact that I was around to hear it, I can leave and let you listen to what she has to say alone. I'll understand if that's what you want."

Megamind seriously considered taking her up on the offer for about ten seconds, but in the end, he sat up straighter and shook his head, sighing. "No, I don't see any point in it, the damage is already done."

She squeezed his hand. "No damage done," she promised. "In fact, I find it... intriguing." He perked up at this. "After all, kids with any kind of an imagination usually grow up to be the most fun and fascinating adults. Given what I already know about you, I want to be along for the rest of the ride."

She couldn't have chosen a better response if she'd tried. His posture straightened all the more, and the brightness returned to his eyes. "So it doesn't disgust you to think you've been dating an... immature child?"

The gleam in her eye was anything but innocent. "You're no child, and you're _anything _but disgusting. I'd say _inexperienced_ rather than _immature,_ innocent in a way that I have a hard time resisting because it's not an act; it's just who you are. I'm actually relieved to know that this _is_ real, that you _aren't _a perennial juvenile sleazebag like Hal and a lot of the guys who've hit on me over the years. Even when you were kidnapping me every other week, you were pretty much of a gentleman about the whole thing. You may have annoyed me and pissed me off, but you _never _creeped me out, thinking it was only a matter of time before... well, let's not go that way," she added quickly when she saw him paling to a rather sickly grayish-blue at the very intimation. "It didn't happen, and with you, I never thought it would. Not because it couldn't, but because let's face it, even as a villain, you had this obnoxiously stubborn streak of decency that just wouldn't go away!"

The color came back to the blue face, along with a slight blush. "It could be _such _a nuisance," he agreed with a laugh made weak from an excess of relief. "But what you're suggesting, it would _never _have happened. I just... couldn't. I mean, I _could, _I had the physical capacity for it, but I just _wouldn't. _Not with anyone, especially not with you. That kind of act is for _real_ monsters, the ones who do deserve to be locked away in dungeons. And no matter how many people called me one because of the way I look, I was not about to prove them right by doing something so disgustingly inhuman. I couldn't even think it."

Her smile returned, filled with pride and affection for this proof of that nuisancy noble streak. "Then maybe your mother was wrong. I don't think she could've known how hard your life would be here on Earth, how it would force you to grow up faster than any child should."

Megamind pondered all these things for a time, then reached a conclusion. "Perhaps both of you are right. It's true, I didn't have a normal childhood by any definition, and while my physical growth rate appears to have been similar to a human's, I've always felt that something inside me wasn't quite right, something beyond the strange circumstances of growing up in a prison. It's as if I've been waiting for something to happen, something to... finish, is the best word to describe it. I've read studies that say the human brain doesn't reach its full cognitive and emotional development until the early twenties. With one like mine, it shouldn't be at all surprising if it would naturally take a little longer. That could explain my feeling of being somehow incomplete."

"It certainly could," Roxanne said most emphatically, glad that he had reasoned this out for himself. There were some things a person had to realize on their own. "Do you want to see if there's anything more to your mother's message? Or would you rather just skip it?"

"It may be academic, if it required certain emotional components to be activated," the alien noted. "My head certainly isn't in the same place it was five minutes ago. But yes, I'd like to try."

She began to offer the sphere for him to take, but he shook his head and indicated that they do this as they'd done before. "Is it supposed to tingle?" she asked as he again placed his hand below hers, but before he touched the sphere.

Megamind shrugged. "I don't know. I feel it myself, sometimes, but not always, usually only before it shows me something new. It might be part of how it checks for recognition factors. Does it hurt?" he asked, suddenly protective. "Because if it does, we can stop, or have you simply touch me and not the sphere..."

She chuckled mischievously. "Much as I enjoy the touching you suggestion, I think I'd rather do it this way. There's something nice about the thought that it might be getting to know me. It may be the closest I'll ever get to being introduced to your parents."

He hadn't considered that, but he found that he liked the notion. His smile back in place, he closed his eyes to center himself again, then touched the sphere.

The room brightened once more as the alien device came to life. The image coalesced quickly, as if impatient to resume its task. His mother reappeared, and spoke. To both their surprise, the message picked up where it had left off.

_"I know that this may come as a shock to you, Mykaal, for it is the nature of our kind to achieve the simpler form of physical maturity long before our minds fully complete the same process. We celebrate this completion of mind and body at this time in our lives, for it marks the beginning of our ability to achieve our fullest and greatest potential, and to accept all that comes with it, both the joys and the pains, the freedoms and the burdens, the privileges and the responsibilities. This does not mean that among us, you would have been considered a true child until now, too immature to make your own choices and decisions—"_

"Well, _that's_ a relief!" Megamind exclaimed with a dramatic sigh. Roxanne shushed him, but gently.

_"—it means only that what you have been and have done before this point has been a mere prelude to what you yet can be and achieve. Your father and I have both sensed the startling potential that you possess, the destiny of greatness that lies before you. There is so much that you might have given our people in the fullness of your adulthood; we could not allow such a light to be extinguished and lost with our world. There was too little time, so we made the decision that was __our__ responsibility, as your parents and as adults who love both our son and our people. We saved you, our precious Mykaal, and now give to you this message of our love and joy that you have indeed survived to reach full maturity. We hope that you will share the great gifts with which you were born, and that you will do so wisely, for the benefit of all." _

Her image began to fade, but a moment later reemerged, now appearing with Megamind's father beside her. His mother was wearing the same green outfit, while her mate wore something of similar design in deep blue and shimmering black. The combination looked good on him, as it did on his son, and Roxanne was beginning to understand this apparently racial fondness for high collars. The flare of that particular feature was an excellent complement to the long neck and large head that they all possessed. After seeing these other flattering examples of that fashion choice, she decided that maybe it was time to stop teasing her beau about his own similar habits. It was a harmless fashion statement, after all — within reason, of course. She really had to have a talk with Minion someday, and ask him just what he was thinking when he'd designed the Black Mamba.

All these thoughts were swept aside when the image came to life. This time, it was Megamind's father who spoke, in a cultured voice that was much like his son's, only deeper. He smiled, the warmth of the expression tinged with sadness, as were all the recordings, with good reason.

_"Mykaal, we can only hope that you have found happiness in your new life. We did not choose the world you now know at random, for we wanted you to have at least the possibility of more than mere survival. Despite the differences in our appearances, our people and those among whom you now live are biologically compatible. When our probes first returned with data from those far reaches of the galaxy, it was speculated that at some point in the past, our races shared a common ancestor, and evolved in very similar ways. Natural selection and differing environs resulted in our unique appearances and abilities, but on the most basic biological levels, we are the same. Our needs are the same, not only in our requirements for sustaining physical life, but in our requirements for nourishing emotional life as well. _

_"Our fondest hope is that you will find someone to cherish deeply who will cherish you in return, so that you may know the joy your mother and I have found in each other. Although it may not be easy for our two peoples to bear children together, it is possible. But never think that we are laying upon you the onus of carrying on our race. That is too much for any one person to do, and too much for any parent to ask of their child. Our only wish was for you to at least have the choice of whether or not to begin a family of your own. There is no joy we could bear to deny you. Follow your own heart and dreams, whatever they might be, and our efforts will be repaid a thousandfold._

_"All our thoughts and love go with you, Mykaal, until we meet once again in the Time After."_

In the recording, his mother echoed those final words, then leaned her head against his father's shoulder. As they both smiled, the image froze, then faded.

Roxanne gasped as the forms dissolved into gentle swirls of soft light. She was surprised to find that she had been holding her breath in her efforts to catch every quietly spoken word, but she was not surprised to find her face wet with tears. They had started falling while Megamind's mother spoke of the reasons they had tried to save him, and hadn't stopped since. If anything, they had flowed even more freely while she listened to his father's speech — hitching only a bit when he mentioned the possibility of children. Rather than dwell on it, she finally tore her eyes away from the still glowing sphere to see Megamind's reaction.

She wasn't at all surprised to see that his face was every bit as damp as her own, since he had a refreshing tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. But where she was using the back of her free hand to wipe away her own tears, he left his untouched, his eyes still fixed on the slow movement of the light. Not yet ready to speak, Roxanne turned her hand over so that the sphere now rested on his upturned palm, its glow only partially dimmed as it shone between their fingers.

When a brief eternity had passed, she finally felt the need to break the silence, if only delicately. "Megamind?" she said, her voice little louder than the whispered recording of his parents. "Mykaal?"

She'd made an effort to pronounce the name correctly, as he said it, as his parents both said it. She was rewarded with a response as he looked up, the half-shuttered light from the sphere creating interesting shadows on his wonderstruck face. "I — really wasn't expecting that," he admitted, also quietly, his eyes still distant, unfocused. "I knew that they loved me, but...!"

"It's a lot to take in, all at once," she agreed. "It's only natural for it to take time, for you to figure out how you feel about it."

"For some of it, yes. But not all." His eyes snapped back into focus so abruptly, Roxanne flinched, startled. "For a long time, I'd thought I wound up on Earth simply because it was the nearest place they could find with a suitable environment and sapient life forms that were similar enough to be able to take care of me until I could fend for myself. Obviously, I was wrong. They wanted so much more for me than that."

She frowned, not at him but for him. "And it was almost totally screwed up because of human prejudice," she said stiffly, feeling genuine disgust for her species, and for herself. "I'm so sorry..." she began.

But the ex-villain shook his head. "Don't be. You aren't responsible for the bigots in the world, or for my own mistakes. I'm grateful that you've been willing to try to put aside our past history and give me another chance, this past year or so."

"You earned it. And I'm glad you've given _me_ a chance to get to know you better, the real you. Thank you for sharing this with me." A light squeeze of her fingers indicated the sphere still resting between their hands, and the information it had imparted.

His reply was completely without artifice. "There's no one else I'd ever _want_ to share it with. I think..." he hesitated, biting his lower lip in a familiar mannerism that said he was searching for just the right words and feared screwing up. "I think maybe it's time we stopped dating."

Roxanne was genuinely shocked, those being perhaps the last words she'd expected to hear. "Are you saying you want to break up?" If he did, she wouldn't believe it.

To her relief, he shook his head. "No, it's just that 'dating' implies something casual, something temporary. Aren't there levels beyond that kind of relationship? Something more..." He bit his lip again, looking for the exact word. "...more _consequenteeal?"_

He was close enough and obviously trying so hard, she let the slight mispronunciation pass. "More serious, as in a stronger commitment?" The green eyes flicked away, as if afraid to light in any one place. He did nod, however briefly and nervously, and she smiled. "Yes, there are, and I think you may be right. But are you sure you're ready for that?"

She half-expected him to hedge, or say something like, "I am if you are," but once again, the alien surprised her. "I've been ready ever since I first met you," was his candid reply. "I tried to deny it, of course, but I always knew. There's no one else I could ever cherish that way. I don't even want to try. You're...perfect. For me," he added, afraid he was going too far.

When Roxanne let go of his hand and stood up, Megamind was positive he _had _gone too far, had said too much too soon. But she simply smiled in that way she had, telling him without a word that she was on to him. She took the sphere from his hand, set it down on her vacated seat, then settled herself in his lap and kissed him.

"That," she said breathlessly when they finally broke apart, though only by a matter of inches, "is the sweetest, most flattering thing anyone has ever said to me. Regular kidnappings may be the strangest kind of courting in history, but in the end, I guess it's the thought that counts."

He was caught in a strange state between regret for their difficult past and pure bliss for the present. "I never really intended to hurt you. But I _did _enjoy your company. Always."

Her laugh was not at all mocking. "To tell the truth, so did I. It's not every girl who manages to get the exclusive attentions of the only blue-skinned supergenius on the planet, even if it started off only because I was the perfect hostage."

He managed to chuckle in response, more or less certain that she was just teasing. "So, should we discuss exactly what comes next?" he asked, trying to be a gentleman about the matter.

Her expression turned wicked. "Later," she said, kissing his nose.

"Temptress," he accused, though with a grin.

"Got it in one," she congratulated, and gave him another kiss that left no doubt as to her intentions.

Megamind was happily allowing his brain to float off into a state of blissful nirvana to match what the rest of him was feeling as Roxanne taught him a few new pointers in the art of osculation, when the peculiar sound of rather tinny music floating above them spoiled the moment. Determined not to let that happen, he tried to ignore it, and was successful only until a very annoying spotlight shone down on them.

He was so annoyed by the interruption, Megamind nearly threw Roxanne off his lap as he reflexively stiffened. "What?" he demanded of the intrusive brainbot hovering above them. "Can't you see that Daddy's busy?"

The little robot bowged almost sheepishly as it dropped something small, then hastily took off with its proverbial tail between its equally proverbial legs. Roxanne, more amused than annoyed, deftly caught what was dropped. It was Megamind's ringing cell phone, and she recognized both the ringtone and the caller ID. "It's Minion," she said as she handed it over. "Remember, now, you wanted this to be a special day for him."

Her calmly-voiced reminder did wonders to cool the irked alien's temper, though he muttered to himself as he accepted the phone. "Code: No brainbots allowed on the LF during alone time." He took a moment to compose himself, then answered the call, much more cheerfully. "Ollo, Minion, what's up? Shouldn't you be sitting down to dinner right about now?... Oh, that was thoughtful of them, removing seafood from the menu, though you should tell them you have no problem eating those armored lobster and crab Neanderthals... What's that?... Oh, no, I don't mind at all, I think that's a splendid idea... Yes, I'm sure everything will be just fine here... Yes, I'll call if something important comes up... Of course. Have a good time, Minion. I'll see you tomorrow."

As he ended the call, Roxanne regarded her beau with a querulous look. "That was Minion, obviously," he explained, tossing the phone onto the vacated chair. "The people running the convention were so thrilled with his participation in today's seminar, they asked him to participate in a panel tomorrow morning, giving a fish-eye view about invasive species in the Great Lakes. He's been interested in that topic for years, and he was delighted to be offered a chance to air his opinions before such a distinguished audience. They offered him a room at the conference center for tonight, and he'll be back sometime tomorrow. He just wanted to be sure I'd be all right without him." He rolled his eyes in affectionate exasperation. "For a fish, he can be such an old mother hen!"

Roxanne clicked her tongue. "That's only because he cares, like I do." He harrumphed just for show, and she patted his cheek, amused. "So, I have to admit, you proved that you were right and I was wrong. Your name's Mykaal — for private use only, of course, not professional. But I don't think I want to go around calling you 'Megamind' all the time, either. What would you like me to use for a nickname? Mike?" His look of devastating disapproval made her laugh. "Okay, that's a big N-O. How about Myk?"

"Meek?" Megamind echoed the sound of the syllable accurately, grimacing. "Hardly appropriate, don't you think?"

She conceded. "Yeah, that's true, you may be a lot of things, but meek isn't one of 'em. How about..." She made a show of thinking. "...Bob?"

This time, he regarded her as if she'd seriously lost her mind. "It was just a suggestion," she said in defense of the obvious joke. "How about stud muffin?"

"Not terrible," he preened, as expected, "but also not suitable for general use."

"Agreed. We'll save that one for alone time. How about Meg?"

He waggled one hand. "I've heard worse, though I can just imagine what the media might do with it. It has an unfortunately feminine ring."

"Also true." She sighed, running out of ideas. "Well, then, how about just plain Blue?"

To her surprise, he smiled. "For a long time, I hated it," he confessed. "But writing that little story for you reminded me that not all the memories associated with it are bad. Especially coming from you, I wouldn't mind it anymore. Not at all."

"Then Blue it is," she said, sealing the deal with a brief kiss. "And by the way," she added before he could persuade her to resume any serious necking. "Just for the record, the kids at that lousy school were wrong about you and The List."

"Oh?" he wondered, curiosity piqued. "How so?"

Her grin was full of mischief. "I know from personal experience that when you're nice, you're _very _nice. And when you're naughty, you're even better."

It was an old joke, but still, it made him laugh. "Point taken," he said, surrendering to her logic. "So, Ms Ritchi, have I shown you all the interesting ways in which I combined Art Deco with late Victorian decor in constructing the master bedroom?"

She raised one eyebrow ever so slowly. "Now this time, I _know _you're inviting me to come see your etchings," she declared with absolute certainty.

He blushed, but was still smiling. "Guilty as charged," he confessed. "Is there any penalty for being predictable?" he asked in his best silky voice.

Her mouth quirked. "I'll think of something," she promised. She kissed him again, a token of the promised reward, then lithely slipped from his lap and stood up.

Megamind began to follow, then paused as he caught a reflection of the low light from the corner of one eye. As he stood, he retrieved the sphere from the empty chair and held it up between them, the sudden blossoming of its colorful glow wrapping them in a nimbus of soft light. "I want you to keep this for me," he explained to her puzzled reaction. "I know that there are some things we've been dancing around, avoiding out of fear — of our past, of being hurt. But I do love you, Roxanne. I'm not afraid to say it, anymore, I _shouldn't_ be. After all, that's why I learned how to be who I always should've been: for you. I trust you, and I hope you can trust me."

The shimmer of the lights in his eyes made her feel weak in the knees, but she somehow managed to remain standing. "I _do _trust you, Mykaal," she answered honestly, the moment too precious for anything that wasn't completely real. "And I love you, too."

The brief kiss they exchanged was a promise of its own, and when it ended, he took her hand and placed the sphere on her palm, gently curling her fingers about it. To their mutual astonishment, it continued to glow, bright and clear, even when there was no other touch upon it but her own.

Reporter and reformed villain exchanged glances, hers perplexed but delighted, his one of smug comprehension. "I think we can take this as my parents' approval," he decided with impish glee, slipping one arm around her shoulders. "Welcome to the family, Ms Ritchi."

_To be concluded..._


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

It was a cold day in Metro City, which was not unusual for the latter half of December, but the raw wind whistling down from the north bit through bare skin and ordinary winter clothing. Even indoors, any room with windows even slightly oriented toward the north felt the chill of the stiff wind; it cut through all but the most heavily insulated glass like the teeth of a piranha slicing through tissue paper.

As that simile flitted through the thoughts of Warden Thurmer, sitting at the same old desk in the same old office in the same old underfunded facilities of the Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted, it brought back memories of the many holidays he'd spent in charge here. He'd watched the place change, first from a fairly standard state prison to a gleaming state of the art facility, and now to another tarnished and tired victim of too much mandatory sentencing and too many budget cuts. He tried not to dwell too long on the memories stirred up by thoughts of a toothy fish and his blue-skinned master, for that inevitably brought with it a tangle of conflicting emotions he was simply getting too old and too tired to fight with any longer.

Still, he mused, wondering if it would do any good to try turning up the thermostat a few notches, those memories weren't quite as painful as they had been a mere year and a half ago. Certainly, young Blue had crushed his heart and ground it under his heel when he'd chosen a criminal career as the self-styled villain Megamind, but in some ways, Thurmer couldn't help but feel that he was at least partly to blame for that. Sometimes, he was sure he just hadn't tried hard enough to get the child into a decent home before the strains of growing up in a prison left him scarred for life. Other times, he felt equally sure that he had done as much as anyone could, trying to protect the boy from forces in the world that would have gladly turned him into an interesting but very short-lived remake of Alien Autopsy.

But lately, most of the time he just felt that he was exhausted, bone-tired, and ready to retire. He'd been glad when the adult Blue had finally found a reason to reform, to end the bad boy charade and turn his considerable intellect and talents for invention to positive ends. He wished it might've happened sooner, but... well, that was water long gone under the bridge. Now, he could only wish him success in his new career, and hope that neither he nor his successor ever saw the alien darken the prison's cellblocks again. Not without a guest pass on visitor's day.

He glanced at his desk calendar and noticed that it was December twenty-first, four days before Christmas, and the first official day of winter. The shortest day of the year. Damned if it didn't feel it, today. That raw northerly wind had a smell to it that said it was only toying with the city, taunting its inhabitants into thinking that it would stay merely a bitter cold wind — until it turned, just a bit, but enough to whip up a gale from the lake and bury everything in a blanket of lake effect snow. He really wasn't in the mood for another Christmas blizzard. Maybe a couple of inches of nice, fluffy snow, just to give everything that traditional White Christmas feeling, but not a storm that would pound on the city for a day and two and bury it under a few feet of the white stuff. If he didn't have to lift another shovelful of snow for the rest of his life, he wouldn't miss it. Maybe...

His flickering idea was snuffed out before it had a chance to light by a knock on the door. God, but he hoped it wasn't another batch of boring end of the year paperwork that required his stamp of approval. "Come in," he called, too tired and cold to muster much in the way of enthusiasm.

Miss Norton, his most recent secretary, stepped in with her usual chipper attitude, which got to be exceptionally so around the holidays, _any _holidays. Christmas was especially bad, and if he hadn't put his foot down, citing various rules and regulations, the place would've been positively dripping with every kind of decoration imaginable. When she was around, Thurmer was sometimes glad he wasn't a diabetic. "Package for you, sir!" she announced so cheerfully, the warden wondered if she didn't have a little flask of the newest batch of inmate hootch tucked away in her purse. She brought the small box to his desk, her movements wafting a thick and cloying cloud of gingerbread scented cologne in her wake.

He sighed. "Thank you, Miss Norton. Have you heard anything from maintenance yet about the boilers?"

"Not yet, sir, but they've promised they'll have space heaters brought into the office wing if the problem isn't fixed by noon!" She made it sound as wonderful as the announcement of peace on Earth, goodwill toward Men. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir? You do look just a wee bit down on such a lovely winter's day!"

Her impenetrable armor of cheeriness obviously rendered her utterly impervious to wind and cold, he decided. He idly scanned the box to see who might have sent it, but saw nothing but the address label. He sighed again, reaching into his desk drawer in search of scissors or a letter opener to slit the package's seal. "Yes, you can go down to the cafeteria and bring back a thermos of their strongest coffee, black. That might take the edge off these infernal drafts."

"Yes, sir, one pot of piping hot coffee, coming right up!"

When she was gone, Thurmer felt an immeasurable sense of relief. He hadn't felt this exhausted by being around someone so obscenely energetic since... Well, since the last time Megamind had actually been in prison of his own volition, before Wayne Scott had retired from the hero business. He knew the story of what had happened to Metro Man's powers, how their loss had forced him to give up the job of protecting his beloved Metro City, but frankly, Thurmer thought the whole thing was a crock. He'd had enough contact with the superhero over the years of his conflicts with Megamind to know that behind all his blathering about truth and justice, Scott was still something of a spoiled brat, eager to grab the limelight so long as it shone upon him in the way he wanted. He'd watched his attitude change from that of an eager hero to one going through the motions and pasting smiles on his face. He knew that Scott was bored with the whole superhero gig, and frankly, he hadn't thought much of his method for getting out of it. Granted, nobody in all of the state of Michigan was more disappointed with Megamind than he himself, but even though he was sometimes angry with his former ward for wasting his God-given gifts, he didn't think it was fair for Scott to try and nail him with a bogus murder rap, just so he could give everyone the slip and take up a career as a pretty sixth-rate musician. He'd been glad when Megamind was cleared — because for all the bad things he'd done, deliberately hurting people had never been one of them — although he thought Scott had gotten off too easily after perpetrating a hoax.

Ah, well, yet another ocean of water under the bridge. He decided to take advantage of Miss Norton's absence to get a quick look at whatever was in the package, just in case it turned out to be another tacky gag gift from one of his acquaintances in the state DOC. He'd already received three, and the lack of any label identifying the sender made him suspicious, since two of the others had also arrived in this condition. He had long since started to think this was another thing he wouldn't miss when he retired.

When the box was opened, he tried to see what was inside, without success, so he tipped it over until the contents slid out onto the desktop. There were two items: a small package wrapped in shiny blue foil and tied with a silver ribbon, along with a pale blue envelope. Okay, he thought, maybe it was a gag Hanukkah gift. He decided to try the envelope first. On its face was written _To Warden Ralph Thurmer, _in dark blue ink. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't be sure. He opened the envelope with a deft stroke of the letter opener, and drew from it not a card but a single sheet of matching stationery. He was expecting a computer printout, since that was the norm these days; to his surprise, it was hand-written, in the same neat cursive script, using the same dark ink. That uniqueness alone would have gotten him to read it, even if it turned out to be nothing more than a few bad holiday jokes or some old friend's latest ramblings about his talented grandkids.

But it wasn't.

_To Ralph Thurmer, c/o Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted_

_Dear Warden,_

_I know that this is very long overdue, and quite likely will make no difference in our current relationship, but I wanted to send you this letter for two reasons:_

_First, I would like to apologize to you for all the trouble I have caused you ever since my escape pod landed in your prison yard, thirty-six years ago. I understand now that I have made many mistakes and bad choices in my life, which I regret. While I maintain that some were the result of being forced into a position in which I was left with no other option, a good many were the product of my own stubbornness, and anger. In hindsight, I can see now that you tried to nudge me in the right direction whenever I went wrong, and I really have no one but myself to blame for refusing to see the truth. For that, I offer my sincerest apologies. Of all the people I knew when I was a child, you were the only one who truly had my best interests at heart. If I had only listened to __my__ heart and head instead of to my anger and hurt, things might have gone very differently, for a good many people._

_Which brings me to my second reason: I want to thank you, for all the kindness you showed me, and all the good advice you tried to give me. Believe it or not, I __did__ listen. Now that I am trying my best to reform and take up the task of protecting the city I once terrorized, I remember all that you told me, and I find that it is some of the best advice and guidance I have to follow. Also, I think that if I had not had your kindness to look back upon, I might have believed that it was impossible for me to __ever__ be liked by anyone on Earth. Your acceptance of me as a child eventually enabled me to accept myself for what I really am, and most recently has helped me to find acceptance by others. There is no way I can repay you for this, except perhaps to try to become the kind of good person you wanted me to be from the beginning. I know that over the many years of our acquaintance, I gave you plenty of reasons to give up on me — and I do know that at times, you did, out of frustration, but never forever. The moment when I honestly began to believe that I might be able to move beyond my villainous past was when you wished Minion and me good luck when I escaped to rescue Ms Ritchi, eighteen months ago. It began a chain reaction inside of me, and I am terribly grateful for what has happened as a result. I hope that someday, you might be, too, and find it in your heart to forgive me._

_I may not owe all of it to you alone, but I certainly owe you a great deal for the better life that I am finally coming to know. And whether you believe it or not, I am humbly thankful for your part in helping me to reach it._

_Sincerely,_

_Mykaal Blue, aka Megamind, Defender of Metro City_

Thurmer read the letter, then read it again, three times. He wanted to believe that this was for real, but given some of the gags he'd had pulled on him recently, it could easily be just another tacky joke. Why did some people go in for this sort of thing, year after year? He was sure he'd never understand it, not in a million years.

_All right, may as well get it over with, _he told himself with a sigh, reaching for the small package and wondering what absurd thing would pop out of it. That seemed to be the way of it when people pulled these Megamind gags on him. Something always burst out of the package, like stupid spring snakes, or a cloud of blue powder thrown in his face. To be on the safe side, he held the thing at arm's length, angling it away from him, just in case. The silver ribbon slipped off easily enough, so the trigger had to be tripped when he tore the paper. He did so, unable to stop himself from a knee-jerk protective cringe, his eyes squinted shut against a possible puff of face-plastering powder.

When nothing happened, he cracked open one eye, then opened both fully to see what tearing the paper revealed. For the better part of a minute, he could only stare in surprise.

"Well, I'll be damned," he finally breathed. Pulling away the innocuous wrapping, he found himself holding a woolen ski cap, hand knit of soft red yarn with a fluffy white pompom on the top. Pinned to it was another note, in the same hand as the letter:

_Sorry I was never able to replace the one you loaned me. Minion helped me with this, and if it doesn't fit, please let us know. We have lots of yarn left._

_Merry Christmas, MM (& M)_

The warden found his eyes misting, now certain that this was no joke. None of the guys in the DOC who liked the gag bit knew about his relationship with young Blue, especially not that he had loaned him a new ski hat to wear on a field trip gone terribly wrong, thirty years ago. That little detail was a matter only between himself and Blue and Minion, and maybe the long deceased Nick Cabela. He turned the cap in his hands, examining it. While it wasn't perfect, it was a good novice effort, much like the one his daughter had made for him so many years ago. On impulse, he tried it on, and smiled to discover that it fit pretty well, like the one Cindy had made for him when she was in the fourth grade.

He was wondering if he might be able to tell his now adult daughter that his long lost cap had been miraculously returned when he heard Miss Norton just outside the door. He quickly removed the cap and hid it on his lap beneath the desk as she knocked to announce her arrival, then entered with the pot of coffee from the cafeteria. "Your coffee, sir," she said, setting down the pot in an open space on the desktop. He watched her reach over the cups filled with pens and pencils and other office necessities, noticing something about her that he hadn't seen before, what with the plethora of gaudy holiday jewelry she wore on both wrists. She turned to leave the room without another gushing word, and he knew his sudden suspicion was right on the money.

"Thank you, Mr. Blue," he said in a perfectly normal voice. "It's very kind of you to save Miss Norton the trouble."

The secretary stopped as if she'd run smack into a brick wall. When she turned to look back at him, stuttering in denial, Thurmer saw that Miss Norton's dull gray eyes were now a strikingly bright green. He smiled, the same kind of knowing look he had given young Blue so often when he came home with unfair notes from the teacher that he didn't want to admit to having. The "secretary" shut the door; then, turning back to face the music, moved the dial of the not entirely hidden holowatch, causing the disguise to vanish. And there was Megamind, not in his most familiar working get-up, but in a winter version that had a long, exactingly tailored, high-collared coat of black and blue glove leather that appeared both supple and yet thick enough to insulate the wiry alien from the worst winter cold. What he used to keep that big head of his warm Thurmer didn't know, but he had no doubt there was some provision for that as well.

"How did you know?" Megamind had to ask, wondering just what had given him away. He'd only asked the secretary if he might do this to be sure that the warden had gotten his little gift and his letter, and hadn't just tossed them away, unopened. He knew that most people would wait until after opening a package before throwing it away, but the child in him still had an unreasoning belief that the warden far too often could see right through some of his most innocent plans. It was the more devious ones that usually got past him.

Thurmer actually managed a ghost of a smile. "The eyes, for one." He chuckled inside at the look of frustration that flashed across the blue face, a look he knew well from his ward's childhood, which appeared whenever he came up against some glitch in his ideas and designs that he just couldn't seem to fix. Kindly, he didn't mention it. "And I thought I saw something on one of 'Miss Norton's' wrists that wasn't there ten minutes ago. Besides, you don't know her, do you? On one of her down days, she gushes more than all the oil wells in Texas, and today she smells of gingerbread, not mint. Even if I completely missed all the rest of the clues, the green eyes and the mint would've given you away. I haven't forgotten your addiction to peppermints, especially around Christmas. You didn't dehydrate her to sneak in here, did you?"

Megamind shook his head just as if he were six years old again. "No, of course not. I came in with a legitimate visitor's pass, and asked her to deliver the package to you. When she came back from the cafeteria, I told her I was a bit nervous about how you'd taken it, or if you'd even bothered to open it, so when she told me she'd take a peek when she took in your coffee, I asked if she'd let me borrow her image to do it myself. She thought it was a wonderful idea."

The warden snorted. "Yes, she thinks _everything's_ a wonderful idea, which was a dead giveaway. She never just brings in anything and leaves without gushing about something and asking me what she can do next to brighten my day." He brought out the cap from under the desk, smiling fondly at the gift. "Thank you for this. I'd almost forgotten about it, and I was pretty sure you had. Did you really make it?"

The alien nodded. "With a lot of help from Minion. He's gotten to be quite the domestic little fish, when he isn't playing sidekick, or off making appearances at conventions."

Thurmer nodded. "I read about the sensation he caused at that conference last week. He's quite a guy, for a fish. Always knew he'd make a good name for himself, someday."

Megamind squirmed, now feeling _very_ much the child again, remembering the first time he'd been brought to this room after doing something genuinely, deliberately, willfully _bad. _His eyes dropped to the floor, stinging with remorse. Never had he wished so strongly for that reset button. "I'm sorry you couldn't say the same for me," he said contritely.

The warden found that he couldn't let him squirm quite as long as he'd initially wanted. "Actually, I always _hoped _you would, right up until the day you finally did. I won't lie and say that all the anger and disappointment you made me feel wasn't real, but..." He sighed, and felt the beginnings of an honest smile start tugging at his lips; he forced them to remain still. "You're doing good now, and making a damn fine job of it. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't proud of you, Mykaal."

"You — you are?"

The way the big green eyes looked up at him, Thurmer felt as if thirty years had vanished, along with all the acts of mayhem and rebellion and villainy. It was as if he were again looking at a timid little boy of six who couldn't understand why the whole world seemed set against him, who simply needed a kind word or an understanding smile to make everything right again.

Now, as then, he couldn't bring himself to deny him. "I always knew you had it in you; I just wish it hadn't taken _you_ quite so long to figure it out for yourself." The waves of relief emanating from the novice hero were so palpable, Thurmer couldn't restrain the smile any longer. "As a matter of fact, I've been trying to work up the nerve to get in contact with you to thank you."

"Thank _me?" _Megamind echoed, sure he'd misheard. "After all the years of hell I dragged you through, why would you want to thank _me? _I should be the one thanking _you, _for not welding me into a steel box and leaving me to rot!"

Thurmer chuckled. "It would've been a waste and you know it. One way or another, you'd've found a way out. Besides, you've already thanked me," he pointed out, picking up the sheet of blue stationery as evidence. "One sincere letter like this is worth a thousand that aren't. I appreciate the effort it must've taken for you to write this. But I'm not talking about thanking you for the past. That's behind us, hopefully for good."

"Oh, it is," he was assured, candidly and not so over-emphatically as to be meaningless. "I have too much to lose now to even think of going back. It was never what I really wanted, anyway. I just didn't know it until I had to face the truth."

The warden nodded his understanding as well as his acceptance. "An honest answer," he approved. "I'm glad to hear it. No, what I wanted to thank you for was the good job you did back in May, rescuing that busload of kids who were almost killed in that construction accident on the west side interchange."

It took less than a second for Megamind to recall the incident with crystal clarity. It seemed that some part of the city's myriad expressway bridges were always under repair, but the amount of traffic passing over them each day made it impossible to close them completely for more than a few hours in the middle of the night. The main interchange on the west side, where the two largest expressways met, was a huge tangle of high overpasses and ramps that carried more traffic than any other part of the city's highway system. The heavy volume was punishing to all its structures, and the project of rebuilding and replacing it had been going on for nearly three years. Late in the spring, a villain wannabe calling himself the Decimator had sent Roxanne's station a series of threatening emails and homemade videos, promising to bring down the entire interchange during the busiest time of day, on a random day before the end of May.

Fortunately, after enough emails and video CDs had been sent to provide adequate information, Roxanne had asked the city's new hero for help. It had taken less than half an hour for Megamind to analyze the data embedded in the electronic threats and amateurishly made CDs, crosscheck the information with Internet providers and the pertinent computer manufacturers, and pin down the originating computer's owner as well as his location. The guy was a rank amateur, in Megamind's opinion, lacking even the most basic skills any villain worth the name would use to obliterate his electronic footprints.

When he had accompanied the police to the Decimator's garage — it didn't even qualify for the term _hangout, _much less _lair _— they had all been relieved to find the guy puttering away in his pajamas, his doors not even locked. The hack was no threat in and of himself, but the variety of explosives and demolitions gear he'd managed to acquire could have been very deadly, had he been able to carry out his threats. When he'd realized that he had been caught, the crook had tried to set off an explosion to start a huge chain reaction and take out the entire place, himself, the police, Megamind, and probably the surrounding two blocks of densely populated inner city neighborhood as well. Fortunately, Megamind had been alert and much quicker, so the would-be villain wound up as a dehydrated little cube before he could set off the suicidal blast. Really, any idiot could have seen it coming when he bellowed, "You'll never take me alive, coppers!" Rank amateur. _Very _rank. The ex-villain had been very glad when the confrontation was over, and he could get away from the overpowering stench of old garbage and ripe sweat clogging the air of that grungy garage.

The police had happily taken the cube into custody while a team of investigators moved in to catalog the Decimator's equipment and any other information they could find on him and his demolitions suppliers. There had been a prominently displayed chart of his planned bombing of the interchange hanging on the back of the garage door, and as a precautionary measure, Megamind had offered to take his hoverbike and a group of brainbots to make certain he hadn't already started to place any of the charges, since it was a massive plan and the projected end-of-May deadline was less than a week off. He and the bots had indeed found some wires and several lumps of explosive — already wired but thankfully without detonators — located on three of the twelve key pylons supporting the main overpass.

As he was quite familiar with how to handle almost every explosive known to Man (and a few that weren't), Megamind had been able to instruct the brainbots so that all of it could be efficiently and safely removed, after proper visual and data-scan records of all the sites had been made for the authorities. Some of them might argue that he should've left the things in place until a police team could come out to remove them, but there were simply times when it was best to deal with matters immediately rather than wait for the overworked authorities to get around to it. With all the construction that was going on in that area, there would have been definite risks in leaving wired charges in place.

It had been a simple stroke of luck that the process had kept him there as long as it had. Not five minutes before he would have been ready to leave, an accident in one of the massive construction cranes working on the interchange had brought the thing's heavy boom crashing down on one of the highest ramps, just barely missing half a dozen cars, flattening the trailer sections of three semis, and sending a school bus flying as it clipped its front end. The vehicle had flipped, then landed on the guard rail, careening dangerously on the brink, tilting back and forth like a huge seesaw. From his position nearby, Megamind had been able to see that if left unchecked, the tipping motion would end tragically, as the bus was on its side and the greater pull of its weight would soon send it sliding over the edge, to plunge off the ramp and into the waters of the river below.

He hadn't even stopped to think about his actions. Summoning all available brainbots in the area and calling for additional backup, he and the bots flew directly to the endangered vehicle. Using thin but immensely strong grappling wires, he'd used the hoverbike to latch onto the end of the bus protruding over the rail and, with the assistance of a dozen brainbots, had pulled it up far enough to haul it back onto the roadbed of the expressway ramp. With the help of the newly arrived bots, the bus had been righted, and its emergency exits quickly opened. Miraculously, the injuries suffered by the occupants had been minor, with the exception of a couple of broken legs and a dislocated shoulder. Several brainbots that had been programmed with search-and-rescue skills had gone in to assess the situation and render first aid to the worst injuries before the police and paramedics and other rescuers could arrive on the scene.

Megamind — who was squeamish about many other things — hadn't given a second thought to following them in, since he'd grown accustomed to having to deal with his own minor injuries. Despite the considerable preventive measures he'd been able to employ to avoid serious physical damage at the hands of a superpowered rival, lesser damage had been an inevitable part of his former life of crime. His arrival as the first help on the scene had had the thoroughly unexpected effect of calming the terrified children, who recognized him as the city's new hero and defender, not as its former master of villainy and evil overlord. The brainbots, which had frightened them at first, quickly became part of his reassuring presence as he directed them to help with the injured and evacuate the rest of the youngsters from the bus.

He had been so involved in the needs of the moment, he hadn't even noticed the traffic helicopter that had reported the rescue as it happened, nor had he paid attention to the eventual arrival of other news media on the scene. It had only been when he'd noted Roxanne's presence nearby — as a reporter, not as a friend or a bystander — that he'd actually taken in all that was going on around him, all that he had done as a simple reflexive response to the sight of innocent lives in danger. That had been the moment when he'd suddenly, fully felt the utter _rightness_ of his new role as a hero, and had been able to take genuine pride in it, without the slightest hint of reservation.

The memory of that day played through his thoughts, lightning-quick, but just as clear. He smiled wryly. "You're welcome," he said, "though I'm not exactly sure why you're thanking me. Not only was that six months ago, but it was certainly the least I could do. Criminals, after all, aren't the only dangers from which our citizens need protection. It was simply my job, and I was glad I could be there to do it."

"Oh, I know that," Thurmer replied with his own lopsided smile. "The media just had a field day over the whole 'miraculous rescue,' and your Ms Ritchi wasn't the one making the most noise — though I'm sure she was happy to hear it. No, this is strictly personal. That school bus was returning from a field trip to the Metro City Zoo, and one of my granddaughters was on it. Lily was one of the kids with a broken leg, and she told everyone how scared she was, until you and your little robot helpers showed up to save the day. She knew that I knew you, and she wanted to give me a thank you card to send you, but I just didn't have the heart to tell her that we weren't exactly friends. I've put her off for so long, telling her that superheroes are too busy to handle things like fan mail, that I think she's just given up on the whole thing. My fault, really. I just couldn't work up the nerve to try to get in touch with you. I wasn't sure you'd care to see my face again, now that you're out on your own."

Megamind was unusually quiet for a moment. He could easily picture both the child's disappointment, as well as his former guardian's uncertainties. "I know how you felt," he confessed. "It took some... rather unusual events to get me to realize that my apologies to you were long overdue. But I'm glad I saved your granddaughter, even if I didn't know who she was. Has she decided I'm not cool anymore, or do you think she'd be satisfied with delivering her thanks to me in person? Because you're right about one thing, I _don't _handle fan mail very well!"

Thurmer was genuinely surprised by his offer. "You'd do that for me?"

The smirk that danced across the alien's face and glinted in his eyes reminded him not so much of the old evil Megamind, but of young Blue in a mischievous, playful mood. "No, I'd do it for your _granddaughter,"_ he said with perfectly feigned arrogance, which was spoiled a moment later by a perfectly unaffected laugh. "But I _would _do it for you, too, sir. I owe it to you. If she's off next week like the rest of the _shkool_ kids, maybe we can arrange something."

"She'll be thrilled, especially if she can get to meet Minion, too. I don't know what it is, but the kids just love him."

"It's a fish thing," Megamind declared in his best darkly mysterious tones. "Beyond the understanding of us mere non-piscines." He abruptly reverted to a much more normal grouse. "When did you start refrigerating this place? I'm wearing three layers of leather and four of molecular level micro-insulation and I'm _still_ freezing! You could liquify nitrogen in here!"

The warden's sigh was one of long suffering. "When we had our budget cut for the last five years running. You know the drill. Old furnace in the office wing, no new funding unless it falls under mandatory expenses, keep fixing what you've got 'til it's old enough to auction off as an antique."

Megamind grumbled. "What, don't they have any respect for their hero's old home?"

Thurmer shrugged. "Not much. Unless the hero's willing to pay for it. How do you think Scott wound up with his face plastered all over the county?"

The blue genius pursed his lips, considering the problem. "I'll see what I can come up with. No promises, though."

"That's a better deal than we get from the state. Would you like some coffee to warm up with? I know I've got a second mug around here, somewhere..."

Megamind shuddered. "From the cafeteria? No, thank you. First it warms you up, and then..." He shuddered again. "No, thank you." He started to say something more, thought better of it, reconsidered that, then forged ahead. "There's a Starbucks up the road that usually doesn't pitch a fit when I stop by — not lately, anyway. It's warmer, if the prison can spare you long enough to get your color back. You're almost as blue as I am — though not as devilishly handsome, of course."

Thurmer loosed a gruff laugh, amused by the bizarrely charming display of vanity that he didn't think his former ward would ever quite lose, which was probably just as well. Change was good, in moderation. His glance slid to the stained plastic serving pot from the cafeteria — was it _really_ that color, or had it just gotten that way? He didn't think he wanted to know the answer. He could almost see the vile brew inside eating holes through the plastic, trying to escape like everything else around here. Himself included.

He was weighing the pros and cons of being seen hanging out in a coffee shop with his former most-wanted prisoner during the middle of a work day. He was beginning to think that maybe it wasn't the right time for that big a shift in attitude when he heard the not-so-dulcet tones of Miss Norton, warbling along with some new holiday song on her radio. He wasn't sure which was worse, hearing Wayne Scott's off-key singing about reindeer that cut through fog with their laser-red eyes, or Miss Norton's pitches that could bend steel.

He had no problem making his decision. Grabbing his coat and his new hat as he came around from behind his desk, the warden shrugged into the former, pulled on the latter, gave Megamind a friendly clap on the shoulder, and said six words he'd never thought he would _ever_ utter in the alien genius's presence:

"Let's get the hell outta here."

* * *

_So that's the story, more or less, of my two most memorable Christmases. Roxanne and I decided that our mutual present to one another would be consolidating our living arrangements, which was completed with the help of Minion and some of the better-mannered brainbots before the end of the year. I'd expected that there'd be some dickering over whose place would be "eliminated," for lack of a better word, but she had no problem with the idea of moving into the living quarters of the Lair. The elimination of rent and acquiring the use of my master bath facilities were apparently powerful deciding factors in my favor. I have to admit, I was glad she chose as she did, not just because I hadn't looked forward to the... er... lively discussion leading up to the decision, but more because I do worry about people who don't have my fine-honed sense of decency actually trying to hurt her in an attempt to get to me. It feels strange at times to realize how the tables have turned, but I'm more than willing to accept that minor humiliation if it means having her in my life, in my home, and keeping her as safe as I can. She'd never consent to the kind of security measures that would ease my worries the most, but then, her feisty nature is part of what I have always loved about her, and no amount of security would be worth dampening it. I'm sure that our shared life won't always be such a bed of roses — although, maybe it will. Roses do have thorns, after all, but the occasional prick is a small price to pay for their undeniable beauty and their sweet scent, which I've always considered one of the most delightful things on Earth._

_I realized a long time ago, of course, that there is no real Santa Claus, but sometimes, luck and fate and the incomprehensibly amazing workings of the universe come together in ways that allow one person to be a very real Santa for another, if only for a day. In my mind — and heart — Nick will always be Santa, not just because he found a link to my past that helped to open doors in my future, but because he made a difference in my young life with his acts of simple, compassionate kindness. Even though I made some bad choices about the direction of my life doesn't mean his advice went unheeded. To be honest, I believe that without our unexpected encounter and Nick's insightful words of wisdom, I would have become more angry and bitter than I did, and would have vented it all in much more disastrous ways. Roxanne and Minion are right: I never really was a true villain at heart. And I believe Nick is in part responsible for that._

_So, do I believe in Santa Claus, really? No. But when I stop and think of the wonderfully smart and lovely woman who is now happily and willingly a part of my life, the person who was at long last able to help me see beyond the facades of my past to the truth I'd buried inside me so long ago, I most definitely believe in angels. _

Finis

* * *

Author's Afterword

And there you have it, the first longer story I've started and completed in over five years. To all those who have been faithfully reading and reviewing, I give my most heartfelt thanks, I appreciate each and every word _— _even though I'm _really_ lousy when it comes to replying! Believe it or not, for someone who can be such a long-winded storyteller, I often find myself at loss for words when it comes to things like email. It's been a fun ride, and, I hope, only the first (well, second, counting "Buddy") of many more rides to come!


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